


Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

by Hookedonapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Captain Swan - Freeform, Dr. Emma Swan, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mentions of Death Penalty, Stalking, bed sharing, detective killian jones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hookedonapirate/pseuds/Hookedonapirate
Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is killed in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she second guesses herself. Now her squeaky clean reputation is questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.There is one detective who knows she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 48
Kudos: 119





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I’ve been working on. I love murder mysteries and always wanted to write one. I read a book a long time ago called The Crush by Sandra Brown that inspired this one in particular. This just a short prologue, which is basically just an introduction to the fic.
> 
> Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.
> 
> Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it. Also, this fic takes place in Texas, where the death penalty is legal, but it’s only mentioned in the story and pertains to the trial in this prologue.

One decision. 

That's all it takes to ruin a person's life.

Or possibly _several people's lives._

One carefully measured, rational, thoroughly informed decision, taking all angles and every spec of evidence into consideration. 

Or one decision that's made in a split second fueled by high emotions.

One decision that can't be retracted or changed. 

No matter how the decision is made, that one decision is all it takes.

“Not guilty.”

As soon as the gavel strikes the wood at the conclusion of the trial, Emma questions her decision. Even though she’d made a decision based on all the facts. All the evidence, or lack thereof.

The words echo through her mind on an endless loop.

_Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty._

She will never forget those words or how they were spoken. She'll never forget the judge who spoke them or what the words implied. But mostly, she'll never forget the man who was spared the death penalty of those two single words. 

_Not guilty._

Because of _her._

Well, technically, a jury of twelve made the decision, but she was the forewoman; she was the person who changed everyone's minds when they were in disagreement with her _._

He might have been guilty, but the prosecuting attorney didn't present enough evidence to convince her beyond a reasonable doubt, and she could not in good conscious let a possibly innocent man receive the death penalty. As a doctor whose job is to save lives, as a person who consciously and carefully ponders every decision she ever makes, she couldn't let a man be convicted without the adequate evidence. 

She saved a man from receiving the death penalty. 

But whose lives will be ruined because of her decision? Whose lives will be taken? Whose lives could have been spared if she let one man die? 

Who will pay the price of _her_ one decision?


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this earlier than I had planned. Thanks for all of your responses so far!
> 
> Some trigger warnings I forgot to add but don't happen until this and future chapters anyway are inappropriate and unwanted infatuation. There will probably be more tw's as we move along.

“Hey.”

The sound of Graham’s voice pulls Emma from her thoughts as she stares blankly into the full margarita glass in her hand. “Hey.”

“There aren’t any hard feelings, right?”

She can hear the concern in his thick, Irish accent as he claims the stool next to her and sets his beer tumbler on the bar top.

Swiveling her head to look at him, she knits her brows in confusion. “Why would there be?”

He shrugs. “Because I know how much you wanted the promotion.”

Right. _That._

Emma’s been so consumed by the trial she actually forgot why she was here at the bar—to celebrate Graham’s promotion. The hospital board of directors appointed Graham to Chief of Surgery a week ago, and though the news was a major blow to her at first, she’s thrilled for him; she really is. Yes, she’d wanted the position, and ever since the predecessor announced his retirement, she and Graham had been the leading contenders. She’s proven time and time again she’s more than capable of overtaking the extra responsibilities the job entails, but Graham deserves the title as well. 

“You're qualified and capable and you deserved it,” Graham says empathetically with an expression meant to convey his reluctance to say what he wants to say. Averting his eyes from hers, he cradles the back of his neck with his palm, his cheeks reddening as he adds, “Probably more qualified than I am.”

Emma tilts her head from side to side and offers a slight smirk. “Not probably. I _am,”_ she teases playfully, making him chuckle. His left hand rests on the bar top between them as she places her hand over his, her smirk transforming into a sincere smile. “I’m happy for you, Graham, I really am. I’m sorry if I seem…” she pauses, debating which adjective best describes her recent behavior before settling on, “distant.” Distant isn’t really the adequate term, but it’s the best word to convey her mood without putting a damper on his.

Graham swivels toward her on his stool to cover her hand with his other one. “That trial really rattled you, didn’t it?”

Emma drags her hand away to bring the margarita glass to her lips, and mumbles, “In more ways than one,” before taking a sip. Not only does she constantly question her decision, but the visions of the defendant’s eyes watching her keep flittering through her mind. He'd made her feel very uncomfortable in the courtroom. Every time she'd look his way, he was staring. And she knew he wasn’t merely staring aimlessly into space or at someone next to her. No, he was staring directly at _her_. She kept trying to discourage his attention by scowling at him or looking away, but her attempts only seemed to encourage him. Every time she saw that creepy grin on his face, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end; it was like slimy worms were crawling up her skin. She felt like she were in an episode of Fear Factor.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Em. He could actually be innocent,” Graham says with a spirited grin as he playfully nudges her elbow with his. “And if he is, you saved an innocent man’s life.”

Emma smiles faintly at him, appreciating his optimism. _“I_ didn't. The jury saved him.”

“Oh, come on, where’s that confident surgeon I know? I would’ve thought you’d return from the trial gloating about being picked as a forewoman when I said you wouldn’t even be chosen as a juror.”

Emma laughs. “You have a valid point, I should be brandishing my bragging at your celebration instead of sulking at the bar all by my lonesome.” She takes another sip of her drink.

When she moaned and groaned to Graham in the doctors’ lounge about receiving the jury summons, he was quick to point out she wouldn’t be chosen because she’s too opinionated, too analytical and too bossy. Emma just smirked and took his remarks as compliments. “Guess you were wrong.”

He shrugs indifferently. “Oh well, you win some, you lose some. I can’t expect to win all our battles.”

Emma nods in agreement. “What would be the fun in winning all the time?”

Graham winks at her. “Exactly.”

He chugs the rest of his beer down before asking Emma to play darts with him. She groans, but when he takes her hand in his and pulls her from the barstool, she doesn’t argue. 

After she beats him at darts, she chats with other colleagues and switches to water after one margarita, since she has to drive home. Robin Locklsey is the owner of the bar, but his wife, Regina, is one of the doctors celebrating with them tonight, so he joins them at the table to socialize and later, plays a couple rounds of pool with Graham, Regina. 

Emma is the first among her colleagues to announce she’s ready to leave because she has to work an early shift in the morning. After saying good night to everyone, she is escorted to her car by Graham.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he says sincerely as they turn to face each other in front of her car.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Emma gnaws on her bottom lip, wondering if he really knows how happy she is for him, and not bitter in any way. Of course, she’d take the promotion in a heartbeat, but she’s glad it went to him and not someone else. “Congratulations, Graham. I‘m really proud of you,” Emma says with a genuine smile. Then she opens her arms, and he follows suit, pulling her into a hug. “If someone other than me had to get the promotion, I’m glad it was you,” she murmurs into his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispers, holding her tight.

The hug is longer than she expects, and as soon as she realizes other colleagues could filter out at any second and think something else is happening between the two doctors who are famously known around the hospital as rival surgeons, Emma pulls away. “Have a good night, Graham.” She’s about to turn around and walk away, but he does something else she doesn’t expect. 

He leans in and kisses her cheek. “Goodnight, Emma.”

She offers a faint smile. “Goodbye, Graham.”

She walks away from him, not sure what to think or how else to respond to what just happened. They’ve known each other since they were both residents and never once has he kissed her on the cheek, which is actually kind of strange if she thinks about it. They’ve always been too busy poking fun at one another to engage in long hugs and kisses on the cheek. 

Once Emma’s inside her car, she places her hand on her cheek as she watches him head back into the bar. The kiss meant nothing. It was just a cheek kiss. They’re friends. They should be able to exchange cheek kisses without it meaning anything. 

Yes, it was just a friendly kiss, Emma surmises as she pulls her hand away from her cheek to start her trusty bug. When the engine roars to life, she pulls away from the curb, breathing unsteadily as she drives home. She knows it was only a friendly kiss, but did he? Could he have feelings for her that went beyond the friendly relationship they had established? 

If so, she has to put a stop to it now. She can't get romantically involved with a colleague. She doesn't get romantically involved with anyone, and certainly not with anyone she works with. What they have now is good and she doesn't want that to change.

The entire way home, she wonders if the kiss had meant something more than friendship. It's 10:17 pm when she pulls into her garage and decides to ask him about the kiss tomorrow and tell him they can't be anything more than friends.

~*~

**_Four hours later…_ **

The smoke rings float through the pleasantly cool, Texas evening air before slowly evaporating into the blackness. The soothing sound of a trumpet from his favorite Frank Sinatra song plays through the audio speakers as he stares at the photo in the Storybrooke Telegram. It’s a glowing article about Storybrooke General’s new Chief of Surgery and confirmation of what his sweet Tamara told him yesterday. It’s not that he didn’t believe her, but he needed proof so he would know without a shadow of a doubt his efforts will not be wasted. It’s not every day he takes a life for his own personal agenda. And truth be told, he doesn’t trust anyone. Not even the pretty nurse who’s been his second pair of eyes and ears since he met her at the strip club six months ago. Two out of the three days a week Tamara’s not working at the hospital, she’s pole dancing to pay off her college debts.

Tossing the paper aside, he brings the cigar between his lips and gently inhales, savoring the warm cherry-flavored smoke before exhaling slowly, blowing the smoke toward the direction where Storybrooke General stands tall. The excitement dancing inside his belly is almost unbearable. 

_Not guilty._

Since the moment those two delightful words rang through the courtroom, he’d been contemplating ways to thank the beautiful blonde juror who so passionately argued for his acquittal. 

And he’s thought of the perfect way to show his gratitude.

His lips expand into a menacing grin. He grows hard just thinking about her and how flushed she got when he stared at her lustfully in the courtroom. Such an exquisite creature she is. She wore those soft, silk blouses and tight black skirts which showed off her long, sexy legs and made her ass look so nice, you could melt ice cubes on it. She looked good enough to eat. 

He groans and palms his erection, but the ringing of his phone interrupts his pleasant thoughts. If only he had enough time to finish himself off while fantasizing about her. But not tonight. 

With a frustrated grunt, he removes his hand from his crotch and pauses the music with the remote control before accepting the call from the unknown number. He says nothing into the phone, only waits for the caller to speak.

“He’s pulling out of his driveway now.”

He ends the call and slips the phone into his pocket, doing his best to contain his excitement. He reaches over and extinguishes the butt of his cigar with the photo of the chief surgeon’s face, taking immense pleasure in watching the cigar blacken and burn a hole into the thin paper. 

Rising from his chair, he leers lasciviously over the city from the vantage point of his penthouse balcony. 

He carries the Storybrooke Telegram inside and tosses it into the fireplace, watching it disintegrate into ash before he leaves his condo with a knife hidden in his ankle holster. He descends several floors in the elevator and leaves the building, sashaying down the sidewalk as he lifts his hood over his head before shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

As a child, he awoke in the night and wished for the sun. His imagination supplied monsters with fantastical jaws to lurk beyond the range of his vision. He feared the night, but now he embraces it. The night provides cover from the monsters of the day, the ones with their guns and official badges, the ones who can be the judge, jury and executioner in the name of freedom. Even on the most moonlit of nights he blends into the city shadows, staying clear of those pools of yellow light that flow from the street-lamps. The neon and white lights that had flood from the bars and restaurants are now extinguished. 

Being dressed in all black helps him slink around in the night like a panther. Unlike his father, he always leaves a crime scene like a ghost—invisible and untraceable. He’d burned off his fingerprints long ago and always leaves the weapon at the scene of the crime. It’s too bad his father wasn’t as smart. He may have been cunning and evil, his heart black as night, but there is a reason he’s rotting in prison while his son enjoys a life of luxury as a contract killer, and yet has never been convicted of a crime. No, he’s nothing like his father. He doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. He doesn’t kill people with malice intent; he performs a service—a job—and he does so with a straight face, his eyes devoid of emotion. He’s had nothing against anyone he’s ever murdered.

Well, until tonight.

Tonight, he will be the one wielding the power, tonight he will be the one deciding someone’s fate.

Because tonight he’s doing it for _her._

Dr. Emma Swan.


	3. Chapter 2

**_Five days later..._ **

Her eyes sting painfully as she stares at the folded scrub cap printed with green shamrocks one last time before she places it on the metal casket that holds her colleague. She sets a red rose on top of the cap and steps back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hand before someone hands her a tissue.

She turns to her head and smiles at an elderly lady who had earlier told her she’d been one of his patients. “Thank you.”

Emma had retrieved the scrub cap when she’d gathered the strength to clean out his locker yesterday. She got it for him a few years ago as a gag gift at the hospital’s annual Christmas party. Knowing Graham's sense of humor fairly well, she had strategically chosen the one with green shamrocks because she knew he would get a kick out of it, rather than take offense. She was right, and not only did he get a good laugh, but he also claimed it as his lucky scrub cap. 

Cleaning out his locker was one of the most difficult things she’s ever had to do, and that’s saying something since she'd performed many surgeries and occasionally has to deliver grievous news to the family of her patients. 

Wiping her tears with the tissue, she catches a glimpse of the bootlace she’d unlaced from one of his boots and tied around her wrist. While most of the surgeons at the hospital wore clogs, he preferred boots because he said the operating room was a battlefield so he wanted to be prepared for the guts and gore that sometimes escaped during surgery. 

Emma still can’t believe he’s gone. No more friendly sparring, no more friendly bickering about who’s the better surgeon, no more trying to mock his accent, but miserably failing. No more Graham Humbert. 

His death was not only shocking but came way too soon. He was too young. Way too young. He was only thirty-eight. And on top of that, he was murdered in cold blood. Someone showed up to Storybrooke General, snuck past the security and drove a blade into Graham’s heart.

The last time she saw him was the night he was murdered, when they were standing outside the bar, when he kissed her cheek. She had no idea when she said goodbye to him that night, she was saying goodbye to him for the last time.

She returns to the hospital for her post-op patients after the funeral, relieved to replace her high heels for crocs, but unfortunately doesn’t have time to change out of her dress. She hates dressing up, and even though she wore a skirt every day in the courtroom, she couldn’t justify throwing on something casual, and instead wanted to put some effort into her attire for her friend, so she wore a dress to the funeral. 

Emma is still reeling from his death, as is everyone who knew him. There was a large turnout at his funeral. He was well-liked and highly respected. And he was good at what he did. He wouldn't have been appointed Chief of Surgery if he weren't. After checking on her post-op patients, she briefs three others for their surgeries tomorrow morning. 

The sky is pitch black when she finally leaves the hospital and strides across the parking lot to her car. She continuously peeks over her shoulder with an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glances over at the guard on duty, but it doesn't make her feel any more at ease considering a murder took place five days ago even though a different guard had been keeping a vigilant eye out. She’d heard he took some time off after he found Graham dead in the parking lot. The reminder of that horrible tragedy fills Emma with dread.

After safely making it inside her car, she releases a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She has crossed this parking lot hundreds, probably thousands of times and never once has she ever looked over her shoulder… until she found out Graham was murdered in this same parking lot. 

  
  


By the time she pulls into her garage that night, she’s bone-tired after a long, emotionally draining day. She’d performed her morning rounds and two surgeries before the funeral that thankfully went smoothly. She’s so glad she didn’t have to break any bad news to anyone today because that would’ve made the funeral much more difficult to handle. In hindsight, she probably should’ve moved each surgery to a future date, but she’d already rescheduled them once before because of the ten days she served as a juror and didn’t want to further inconvenience her patients. She knew Graham would have understood.

Emma trudges through the kitchen door from the garage, scanning the mail she’d retrieved from her mailbox before she’d pulled into her driveway. She’s ready to crawl into bed after a long, dreary day—no, after the long, dreary few weeks she’s had—but first, she needs to wind down. She could definitely use a hot cup of cocoa. So as soon as she deposits her bag and mail on the table, she makes a cup of hot cocoa, but not from the powdered stuff. 

She boils fresh ingredients on the stove and adds some milk to the pot before removing it from the heat and adding vanilla extract. She whisks the mixture until it’s frothy and pours the beverage into a mug, but she purposely doesn’t choose her _World’s Best Surgeon_ mug she received from Graham on her thirty-eighth birthday. It’s her favorite mug, but it’s too soon. Maybe after the shock of his death wanes, she’ll be able to use it again without breaking down into tears, but right now she just can’t. She turns the mug around so the words are facing the back of the cabinet, and she grabs a mug with kittens printed on it instead. 

After adding cinnamon and whipped cream, she grabs her phone from her purse, sipping her delicious beverage as she checks her notifications, one being a reminder for Anna and Kristoff’s wedding. It’s next Saturday evening, which is doable, but having to dress up is just one of the many reasons why she doesn’t enjoy going to weddings. 

Everyone’s always ragging on her about never accepting invitations to social gatherings though, especially her cousins, Anna and Elsa. Despite living with the sisters for five years, she became estranged from them after she went off to college. Now she barely sees them at all because she’s always working. She’s missed so many Thanksgivings and Christmases, it would be odd to show up to one of their family gatherings now. But they’re right. She should get out more. 

Hard work and no play, topped with the trial and her colleague’s death has pretty much drained all the life out of her, and she could use an escape. Actually, what she could use is some time on her ranch with her horses. Her home away from home is an hour outside of Storybrooke where Kristoff owns a neighboring ranch, and he and his fiance take care of Emma's horses when she’s in Storybrooke. That’s about the only interaction she has with Anna these days—when she calls to ask about her horses and the ranch. She hasn’t even told her cousins about the trial she was a juror on.

Emma grumbles under her breath when she listens to a voice message from Detective Nolan who’d questioned her and everyone Graham worked with attending the celebration at the bar the night he was murdered. The detective got her number from the hospital, which she is not happy about. Now he wants to meet with her to discuss Graham’s murder, even after she told him everything she knows, so it’s a complete waste of his time. And hers.

After finding no urgent messages or calls, she goes to her living room and looks up from her phone screen. Her heart leaps out of her chest and the air leaves her lungs so quickly, the mug falls from her hands, and the ceramic breaks into pieces when it crashes to the hardwood floor. She clutches the phone to her chest after almost dropping it as well. Normally she'd be quick to clean up the mess; she’d hate the idea of leaving her floor sticky for the housekeeper to clean up and have her shoes stained from hot chocolate as the dark brown liquid pools around her feet, but she’s too focused on what's on her coffee table to peel her eyes away.

An enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in a crystal glass vase.

“What the fuck?”

She’s frozen in place, her face draining of color. Not only is it a very rare occurrence for her to receive roses or romantic gifts of any kind, but someone has broken into her home to give them to her. Her heart is pounding as she scans the room. Nothing else in the living room is amiss, but the thought of someone breaking into her home makes her skin crawl. 

She stares at the fifty roses for a long time, her mind reeling with how or why someone broke into her home to deliver the flowers. It’s not her birthday, and even if it were, no one else has a key to her home, except for her housekeeper. Perhaps Johanna was here when the roses were delivered and brought them in. Yes, that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation of how the roses ended up on her coffee table. 

Except her housekeeper would have mentioned it to her or sent a text or something so Emma would not be freaked out like she is right now. And it still doesn’t explain the reason for the roses in the first place. The roses look expensive; the vase looks expensive. Someone went all out just to gain her attention, but who? And why? She’s currently single, _very single_ , and hasn’t had so much as a one-night stand or a dalliance in a very long time. 

Perhaps the roses are from a grateful patient? But no one except family and a few friends know her home address. If this were five days prior, she would've suspected Graham after he'd kissed her cheek. He's one of the few people who knew her address. But he never would've broken into her home to give them to her.

After recovering from the initial shock, she’s able to move again, willing her feet to step forward and warily make the trek around her couch to the coffee table. There’s a silk red ribbon wrapped around the top of the vase, tied into a large, perfect bow. The sight of a blank, white envelope tucked into the foliage behind the bow catches her eye. 

Hoping there’s a reasonable explanation for the roses and possible break-in, she reaches for the envelope, and with trembling hands—hands that have worked miracles and saved lives, hands that are normally steady under intense pressure—she removes a card from the envelope and reads the fancy calligraphy used on six typed words.

_I’ve got a crush on you._

Goosebumps cover her skin and she shivers, almost dropping the card. 

Who the hell would be sending her flowers and an anonymous note, declaring their affection for her? 

She calls Johanna, desperately hoping the roses were delivered and that her housekeeper is the one who brought them into her home and not some psycho who broke in.

“Hi, Johanna, sorry to call so late,” Emma mumbles through the phone, her voice shaking slightly. She’s normally cool under pressure, but the roses and card have certainly gotten under her skin, which she’s guessing was the intention behind the gifts.

“It’s no problem. I haven’t made it to bed yet. What can I do for you?”

“Did I receive a delivery while you were here today?”

“No, ma’am. Were you expecting something?”

_Fuck._

Then who the hell broke into her house? 

“Um… yes,” she lies, not wanting to concern her housekeeper. “I was on the lookout for a small package I ordered a couple weeks ago.”

“Did you track the package?”

“Yes, it's due to arrive soon.”

“Well, if it arrives while I’m here, I’ll be sure to bring it in and leave it on the kitchen table so you’ll see it when you come home.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“No problem. How are you doing? The funeral was today, wasn’t it?”

Emma closes her eyes, breathing slowly, her heart cracking at the mention of Graham’s funeral. “Yes, it was. I’m doing okay, I suppose. It was all just very shocking.”

“I can imagine. You shouldn’t stay at home alone after losing a friend, you know? You should stay with someone, at least for a few days.”

Emma smiles faintly at her housekeeper’s concern. “I’ll be okay. Just need some sleep is all.”

“Make sure you eat something first. You shouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. But I don’t have to tell you that, you’re the doctor,” she teases.

“You know me too well, Johanna,” Emma remarks with a small laugh.

“I’ve known you to miss a meal or two,” Johanna points out in a motherly tone. She’s not wrong. Working as much as she does, Emma tends to forget to eat.

“I’m actually about to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich,” she lies again. Though toasted bread and gooey cheese in the middle does sound appealing, her stomach’s all twisted in knots. She’s too freaked out to even shove anything into her mouth right now.

“Good, I’ll let you get to it then. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Emma.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Emma ends the call and stares at the note again for a good five minutes. Then she searches her house for any more unwanted gifts but finds nothing. She examines her front and back door and all the windows for any signs of forcible entry, but there are none. She even checks the closets, under her bed and in her bathtub to see if whoever broke in is still there; but even after she finds no one, she still has an uneasy feeling in her gut. Whoever broke in could very well do it again. 

She briefly wonders if she should call the police, but what would she even tell them— _someone broke into my house just to give me flowers and leave a note to tell me they have a crush on me?_ It sounds too ridiculous, they’d probably laugh in her face. Though the gifts and the fact that this person found out where she lives are probably grounds for having a stalker, it could also be a practical joke. But the only person she can think of who would pull such an awful prank on her is… well, he’s dead. 

She disposes of the roses in the trash, but stores the vase in the cupboard and places the card in her nightstand drawer in case she needs to present the items as evidence for having a stalker on her hands. But she's not sure how helpful the items would be considering the words were typed and the card was unsigned with no name or any other indication of whom the flowers or card came from.

Still on edge, Emma cleans the mess she'd made. Then she takes a shower, changes into her nightgown and slips into bed. But she highly doubts she’s getting any sleep tonight.

~*~

“On the night Dr. Humbert was murdered, you were at the Rabbit Hole with him, correct?” 

“Along with several other people there that night, yes,” Emma replies in a narked tone. She came here to the police station after her morning surgeries because Detective Nolan insisted on interviewing her even though he'd already questioned her after Graham's death.

“Have you questioned them to this extent?” her lawyer, Mr. Hopper chimes in.

“I’ve questioned them, yes,” Detective Nolan answers without confirming exactly who he questioned and to what extent. “Did you go to the Rabbit Hole alone?” 

Emma nods. “That’s right.” 

“I understand there was a celebration at the bar that night. What was the reason for the celebration?” 

“We were celebrating Graham’s promotion to chief of surgery.” 

“And how did you feel about his promotion?” 

“I was happy for him,” Emma replies sincerely, though it's delivered in a flat, emotionless tone due to her lack of patience and because she's not happy about the insinuations of the question. 

“Mhmm,” Detective Nolan hums before taking a sip of his coffee. “You were also under consideration for that position, weren’t you, Dr. Swan?” 

“I was. And I deserved to get it.” 

Mr. Nolan's brows climb his forehead, his eyes flashing with intrigue. “More than Dr. Humbert did?” 

“In my opinion, yes,” she replies calmly. “He deserved the position as well, but I deserved it more.”

Mr. Hopper raises a cautionary hand to stop her from continuing. “Dr. Swan, I highly—” 

“I’m only telling the truth,” she states, cutting him off as she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the detective. “But I’m sure you regard being denied a job promotion as a motive for murder, don’t you Detective Nolan?” 

He looks her dead in the eye. “I don’t believe you killed anyone, Dr. Swan.” 

“Then why did you request this interview?” 

“Because you failed to mention the promotion when I first questioned you.”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn't hurt to go over anything I might have missed the first time around. You also failed to tell me you left with Dr. Humbert that night. Is that true?”

“I didn’t leave with him,” she states defensively. “He walked me to my car and then went back inside.”

“And that was it? He only walked you to your car? Were there any words exchanged?”

“I congratulated him and we hugged,” Emma tells him. She doesn’t deem it necessary to mention the kiss on the cheek, but in case someone had witnessed the kiss, she doesn’t want the detective to think she’s withholding any other information. “He also kissed me on the cheek and we said goodnight. Then I got in my car, watched him walk into the bar and drove away.”

“Was there anything romantic going on between you and Dr. Humbert, casual or otherwise?”

She shakes her head. “No, there was not. We were friends who’ve known each other since we were residents, that was it.”

He nods, seeming to accept her answer and moves on to the next question. “Did you go home immediately after you left?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyone to corroborate that?”

“No.”

“Did you go anywhere else that evening?”

“No, I had to work the next morning, so I went straight to bed. And no, no one can corroborate that either.”

The detective throws her a few more questions before bringing up the trial she served as a juror on, which infuriates her because the trial had nothing to do with Graham’s murder. 

“Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

“And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

“I was,” she replies with a tight smile. “But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

He nods. “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

His remark rattles her, not only because the detective is accusing her of being Graham’s adversary or because of the implications his statement carries, but because he believes someone was hired to murder Graham. 

She explains she made a decision after exploring every facet of the case. The evidence was entirely circumstantial, the defendant could not be placed at the scene of the crime and he had an alibi. She also has to elucidate to Detective Nolan she doesn’t believe the defendant was innocent, only that she was not convinced he was guilty. And yes, she had persuaded the other eleven jurors to vote for the acquittal, but after two days of deliberation, each juror voted according to his or her own conscience.

After everyone in the interrogation room agrees there is nothing further to ask, Emma heads back to the hospital, still reeling from what David had said about Graham’s murder being a contract kill.

Her mind drifts to the roses and the card she’d received the night prior. She thinks about how the defendant—an accused contract killer—kept staring at her in the courtroom. It was creepy, _disturbing,_ just as breaking into her home to leave roses and a note that says, _I’ve got a crush on you_ was creepy and disturbing.

Could Neal Gold be the one who broke in and left the roses and card? 

The thought makes Emma physically ill. 

Once Emma returns to the hospital, she trades in her red blazer for a white lab coat and checks on her post-op patients. Tired of wearing skirts and dresses, she put on her red, two-piece suit of amour for her interview that morning.

She's called on to perform three emergency procedures, which include treating an intestinal obstruction, a strangulated hernia and a perforated ulcer. Immediately following each procedure, she speaks with the patient’s loved ones to report on the condition of the patient and to explain the procedure she’d done. She makes notations in the charts of her post-op patients.

When she’s done, she returns the charts to Tamara, the nurse on duty. “Please page me if any of these patients take a downward turn.”

“Certainly, Dr. Swan,” she says with a smile. “So, has the board made you Chief yet?”

The question takes Emma off guard. The last thing on her mind is a promotion. “Um… no, but even if they offered me the position, I couldn’t possibly take it. It would just feel wrong to benefit from Dr. Humbert’s death.”

Tamara nods. “That’s very noble of you. But even so, I hope you get it, Dr. Swan. You deserve it.”

Emma is stunned by Tamara’s words. She had no idea the nurse had thought so highly of her. “Thank you,” she says with a tired smile. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Emma turns around and heads for the elevator. As she leaves the building, the buzz from her phone breaks through the ominous silence of the night. She grabs the device from her purse, seeing it’s from a restricted number. Reluctantly she answers the phone, bringing it to her ear with furrowed brows. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end as Emma makes her way across the parking lot, but then she can hear someone breathing heavily into the phone.

“Hi, Emma.”

She halts in her tracks, wild-eyed at the whispered voice on the other line. “Who is this?”

“Oh, come now, Ems, don't you recognize my voice?” he says, as though they’re best friends. “We spent almost two weeks in the same room together.”

Emma sucks in a sharp breath and frantically searches the parking lot for any signs of him, heart pounding in her ear. Spotting her car several feet ahead, she bolts for it while trying not to draw too much attention from the guard. When she gets in her car and locks the doors, she manages a faint whisper. “Gold?” 

He chuckles. “So, you do remember me? I knew you would.”

Of course she does. She’d recognized his voice immediately but was desperately hoping it wasn’t true. The way his dark eyes connected with hers in court made her skin crawl. How could anyone forget him? 

“And baby doll, please, call me Neal.” 

Emma cringes and her stomach turns. “How did you get my number?”

“Let’s just say I have connections. Did you like the roses?”

Her heart skips several beats, then restarts, pounding double-time. Now that she knows the roses were from him, she wants to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, but since he had placed them inside her house, there’s no way she hadn’t seen them. “How the hell did you get into my house?”

Gold laughs, this time more loudly, more sinister-like. “Please, Ems, getting into your house was child’s play to me.”

“And why’s that?” she challenges, even knowing he won’t take the bait. He’s incredibly clever and resourceful, otherwise he couldn’t have escaped prosecution for all his misdeeds, including the most recent murder he’d been tried for. 

“I thought you’d like red roses, baby doll, since you wore red lipstick every day of the trial,” he comments, completely evading her question. “I like your red suit by the way, the color compliments your complexion.”

Emma clenches her jaw, and her fingers grip around the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles turn white. She scans the parking lot from her car. Not only did he break into her house but he's following her too? What the actual fuck. “Stop calling me baby doll. Or Ems. In fact, stop calling me at all. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Gold.”

“Wait, please don’t. I only wanted to thank you,” he says in a gentle voice, bordering on sweet, but she won’t go so far to admit that.

“Thank me? For what?” she demands, growing agitated. No, she’s beyond agitated. Ever since this fucker showed up in her life, her world has been in complete disarray, from the trial to Graham's murder to the unwanted gifts to the scrutiny from the police department and now this.

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I didn’t save your life,” Emma snaps.

“Oh, you did, baby doll. If it weren’t for you, I’d be on death row.”

“I did nothing. A jury of twelve made the verdict,” she clarifies. It feels like she’s had to clarify that a lot lately.

“Maybe so, but one of your fellow jurors said you led the campaign for my acquittal. She said you argued for my side and that your arguments were inspired and… passionate,” he says as though he’s speaking to a lover. “You have no idea how badly I want to touch you… thank you properly.”

Emma’s pretty sure she’s going to vomit all over her front seats. “In your dreams, you creep. Now fuck off.” She ends the call and throws her phone into the passenger seat like it had burned her. 

She squirms and flails her arms as though large, disgusting rats are crawling all over her, and she gags. She wants to go home as quickly as possible so she can strip off her clothes and burn them. She feels sick, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, heart pounding erratically as she starts her car and takes a deep breath like she’s preparing for an intricate, life-threatening surgery. 

Now she’s glad she didn’t report the break-in to the police because if they find out Neal is her secret admirer, it might raise red flags; it might be just another reason for the detectives to point a finger at her for the involvement of Graham’s murder. 

_Oh god._

Something occurs to her, hitting her like a brick. Gold said one of the jurors told him how passionately Emma argued his side. Which means she probably told Nolan the same thing when he interviewed her.

Even though Archie had tried to assure her the detective’s insinuations and persistence were standard police tactics, there are two questions that have been gnawing at her since the interview, other than whether or not it was Gold who broke into her house. Questions that make her skin crawl.

Does Detective Nolan actually consider her a suspect? And does he think she hired Gold to murder Graham Humbert?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wondering when Killian will appear, he's introduced in the next chapter, so sit tight. I will be posting chapter 3 next week. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David brings the case to Killian's attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things before we get started with this chapter. 
> 
> You've probably noticed, I made Emma older than she is usually portrayed in fanfics since being chief of surgery requires an extensive medical background, education, training, experience, etc. Basically this is how old she would be ten years later from the OUAT pilot. With that said, I've made the other main and supporting characters older as well. Emma and David are 38-39, and Killian, Elsa, Anna and MM are 32-35. Just wanted to clarify that to avoid confusion, though I do mention some of their ages in the story. I'm doing my best to keep the timeline consistent but if anything doesn't make sense with the timeline, or in general, please don't hesitate to ask me about it either on here or Tumblr.
> 
> Secondly, I know some of you, or maybe all of you are hoping Emma will contact the police about Neal, but keep in mind, Emma's a suspect and yes, contacting the police would be in her best interest, but Emma's going to be paranoid about every move she makes because she overanalyzes and thinks everything through. And any move that could potentially bring more attention to herself regarding graham's murder could effect her career she has worked so hard to obtain. So please keep these things in mind before you get too upset with her.
> 
> Also, this chapter is in Killian's pov, so we will see the video footage of Emma's interview. To avoid a bunch of repetition this chapter shows different points of the interview so that's why different questions are shown in this one, except for a few that I included in both chapters.. 
> 
> You will find that Killian has to iron out some wrinkles in his relationships with David and Elsa, so this chapter and the next will include some angst, but I think all of you lovelies are going to like what I have planned for chapter 5, so please bear with me until then :)
> 
> Okay enough of my rambling and on with the story. Thanks for reading!

“Uncle Killian!”

With a big smile on his face, Killian watches his nephews charging toward him. He sets down his tackle box and fishing pole and wipes the sweat off his brow as he steps off the dock. “Oof,” he feigns a pained noise with a chuckle as Leo tackles him. Killian picks him up, drawing him into an enormous bear hug, noticing his nephew is heavier than the last time Killian picked him up. “You’re growing too fast. Soon you'll be taller than me.”

“Nah-ah,” Leo laughs, shaking his head. 

“Uncle Ki-wi!” Liam wobbles toward him and wraps his arms around Killian’s legs. 

“Can you tell they missed you?” Mary Margaret asks as she catches up with her children, David hot on her heels, their hair rustled by the wind.

“No, not at all,” Killian chuckles, setting Leo down to pick up Liam. “It’s been too long. Far too long.” The two brothers are four years apart, and though Killian is not related to them by blood, he’s like a brother to David, thus Uncle Killian to David’s sons. “I missed you too,” Killian says, dropping a kiss to the crown of Liam’s head. 

The little lad will be three years old soon, but it feels like only yesterday when Killian cradled the newborn in his arms as the parents announced they were naming him after a man who died a hero—David’s best friend and partner, and Killian’s brother. 

He sets little Liam on his feet and looks up at David, noting the laptop satchel strapped around his shoulder. He fooled Killian into thinking this was only a social visit by wearing his casual clothes—khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. And Mary Margaret is carrying a tote bag of beach supplies, ready to lounge on the beach.

“Did you catch anything?” David asks. 

“Fishing is not about the catch, mate.”

David grins. “I know. It’s an excuse to drink during the day, right?” 

Killian scoffs playfully and waves his words. “Like I need an excuse.”

They share a laugh as they draw each other into a hug and pat one another on the back. They’ve been friends long before Killian joined the Storybrooke Police Department. David’s four years older than him and the same age as Liam would've been—thirty-nine—but the three of them were pretty much inseparable. And after Liam passed, Killian and David shared a heartache neither would ever fully recover from. “I’ve missed you, Jones.”

“Missed you too.” After they break the hug, Killian turns to Mary Margaret, smiling warmly at her. “Thanks for bringing the boys.” 

“Of course,” she says, throwing her arms around him. She’s six years younger than David and has been married to him for ten years. They met right after she graduated from college and moved to Storybrooke to take a teaching job. She is now the vice principal at Forest Grove Elementary. 

“Sorry if I smell like fish and sweat,” Killian apologizes as he wraps his arms around her.

“Oh wow, you do,” she laughs, pinching her nose but doesn’t pull away. “That’s okay. Wouldn’t expect anything less since you live in this fishing town.” 

He chuckles. “You know, I could’ve just visited you all in Storybrooke if I had been given more notice. I could’ve saved you a trip.” He didn’t even know they were coming over until last night when David had called him out of the blue.

Mary Margaret waves off his words as they break the hug. “Nonsense. The boys were dying to see their Uncle Killian, and they've been begging us to take them to the beach, so we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“It’s nice to see all of you again.” He looks at David, narrowing his eyes. “Though I have a feeling this isn't just a pleasure trip for you, is it?”

David gives into a grin and pats Killian on the shoulder. “Is it ever just pleasure with me?”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. “Never.” Outwardly he’s relaxed and cheerful, but inwardly, he has a bad feeling about whatever David wishes to discuss with him.

“Uncle Killian, will you make sandcastles with us?!” Leo asks as his mother hands him and Liam a big sand bucket packed with sandcastle molds and a shovel.

Killian opens his mouth to answer but David beats him to the punch. “Actually, we have some important things to discuss first. Then Killian can make sandcastles with you.”

The boys groan their disapproval, Leo gets over it quickly and wastes no time racing off toward the shoreline, Liam wobbling after him.

“Not so fast, you two! Sunblock, first, then floaties!” Mary Margaret calls out, following their trail of messy footprints in the sand.

When Leo halts in his tracks and turns around, going to his mother as she spreads out a blanket on the sand and retrieves a bottle of sunblock from her tote, Liam trails behind his brother.

“Anyone want something to drink?” Killian asks them.

“Sure, I’ll take some iced tea,” Mary Margaret replies.

“Do you have Capri Suns?” Leo asks.

“Of course I do. What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t stock up on Capri Suns for when my nephews come to visit?”

“Yes!” Leo exclaims, fisting the air.

Mary Margaret pulls off Liam’s shirt and rubs lotion over his back and arms. “Thank you, Killian. And you don’t have to worry about Liam, he has his sippy cup with juice in it.”

“Okay.” Killian turns his head to look at David. “Want a beer?”

“Sure, you got Lone Star?”

Killian’s lips stretch into a wide grin. “Any other beer would be treason.” After he grabs his fishing gear and stores it in the garage, he and David head inside the house. 

Killian goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of sweet tea, a fruit punch Capri Sun and two bottles of beer, setting them on the island counter. He pops off the caps of the beers before handing a bottle to David. “What important things did you have in mind to discuss?”

David holds up his bag. “Take a wild guess.”

Killian sighs as he pours Mary Margaret a tall glass of tea. “And here I thought you just wanted to catch up on old times.”

“I do, but I also want to discuss a case with you,” David admits softly before taking a swig of his beer.

Killian’s jaw twitches as he glares at his old friend. “Then you’re wasting your time. I came here to Port Lavaca to get away from that stuff.”

“Which is exactly why I brought it to you.” David sets down his beer and places his laptop bag on the counter, unzipping it. “Just give me five minutes, okay?”

“And why should I?”

“Because you’ll want your hands on this case, trust me.” David pulls out his computer and sets it up on the counter.

“How are Elsa and Camila doing?” Killian asks, deliberately changing the subject. He’s not interested in whatever case David is about to present to him, nor is he pretending to be. 

“Why don't you ask them yourself?”

“Because you see them and talk to them more often than I do. I didn’t even get invited to Anna’s wedding, which I’m positive the Maid of Honor had something to with.”

David looks up from his open laptop, furrowing his brows. “Doesn't the bride and groom normally choose the people on the guest list? Mary Margaret and I chose our own guests for our wedding.”

“True, but even if Anna and Kristoff wanted to invite me, you don’t think Elsa talked them out of it?”

David shrugs. “Maybe, but if she did, who’s fault is that?”

“David…” Killian mutters with a pained expression, his heart constricting. “You know my relationship with Elsa hasn’t been the best since Liam passed.” 

David turns around and plants his hands on his hips, gaping at Killian. _“Hasn’t been the best?_ It’s almost nonexistent.”

“Aye, because of what happened,” Killian states bitterly. “Since then, she’s only ever let me stop by so I can pick up my niece and spend time with her.” He desperately wants to change that though. He wants his sister-in-law back, he wants the friendship they once had, and he wants to spend time with both her and Camila again. He’s tired of missing out on important milestones in Camila's life all because her mother and uncle prefer not to be in the same room together. He’s just been too much of a coward to tell Elsa that. To apologize for letting his temper get the best of him.

“Do you blame her? You let her husband’s killer get away with murder,” David scolds.

Killian slams his beer on the counter, anger surging through him. “I loved him too, okay?! I was only trying to prove—no, you know what?” He raises his open palms in protest. “I’m not doing this with you. Not today, not ever.” He gathers the beverages and storms out, the backdoor squeaking on its corroded hinges as he strides onto the deck and rushes down the steps. He doesn’t need this shite. His nephews are here to visit with him and he’s not about to waste the opportunity.

“Killian, wait!” David calls out from the deck as Killian trudges through the sand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said that! I know you loved him! We all did!”

Killian turns around, pinning him with a glare as David makes his way down the steps. “He was _my brother._ I’m the last person in the world who wanted that piece of scum to get away with ending his life.”

“I know.” David sighs as he inches closer. “Which is why I’m here.”

Killian narrows his eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. “I thought you were here to discuss a case?” 

A pained expression etches David’s features. “I am. A case involving your brother’s killer.”

Killian’s fists clench around the drinks, his jaw tightening at the thought of another innocent victim falling at the hands of—

No, he can't do this. He’s not going down that path again; it only leads to anger, bitterness and vengeance. He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m done with detective work. I’m not interested.” He walks away again, heading toward Mary Margaret and his nephews.

“What if I said there's a good possibility you could catch him this time? Then would you be interested?”

Killian stops in his tracks, gazing out at the sea as David’s words slice through him. No, he shouldn’t care about catching Liam’s killer anymore. He gave up a long time ago. But somehow he finds himself turning around to face David again, curiosity clawing at his gut. “How?”

A triumphant grin crawls across David’s lips. “I knew that would gain your attention.”

“Just tell me,” Killian demands ardently.

David steps toward him. “I'll tell you when you agree to hear me out.” He holds up the five fingers of his right hand. “Five minutes.” 

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Killian mumbles and turns around, walking away. This time, David doesn’t holler after him or follow him.

When Killian brings the drinks to Mary Margaret and Leo, she thanks him and lifts her sunglasses, perching them atop her head and squinting up at Killian. “What were you and David shouting about?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing important.”

Mary Margaret frowns, not believing him. “You should hear him out, Killian. He really misses working with you.”

Killian sighs and sips his beer as he watches Liam filling his bucket with sand and Leo walking along the shore, collecting seashells. “Will I really want my hands on the case?”

A solemn expression creases Mary Margaret’s features. “Would David drive three hours to ask you if he thought otherwise?”

“He would if it meant spending time with an old friend… or at least I would hope,” Killian grumbles.

“Of course he would, but if he didn’t think you’d be interested, he wouldn’t have brought it up.” 

Killian takes another swig of his beer, pondering David’s offer.

Mary Margaret puts her tea in the beach cup holder she’d brought with her and gets up to walk toward her sons, giving Leo his drink and sitting across from Liam to help him make a sandcastle. 

Killian misses spending time with them, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to head back to Storybrooke. He’d moved here to this fishing town, Port Lavaca, almost two years ago and bought this cabin on Lighthouse Beach. After Cassidy got away with murdering Liam, Killian blamed himself— _everyone_ blamed him—and he couldn’t stand to be in Storybrooke any longer. He couldn’t live in a town that reminded him of his brother, a town that couldn’t bring his brother’s murderer to justice and pointed their fingers at Killian for the reason Cassidy got away with his crime. David knows he has no interest in going back. Not to Storybrooke, not to the SBPD, and yet he made the trip with his family three hours away from home. Nolan wouldn’t have bothered bringing the case with him if he knew Killian wouldn’t take the bait.

When Killian heads inside and steps through the backdoor, David’s back is leaning against the counter, his arms crossed as he waits for a different answer. Or rather the answer he wants to hear.

Killian knows he’ll regret this, but he can’t deny his curiosity is piqued. The detective in him is itching to know more about the case, or so he tells himself. He assents with an exasperated sigh. “Five minutes. That’s all you get.”

David grins. “That’s all I need.” He brings his laptop to the table, and once Killian takes a seat next to him, David plays a video that’s ready to go on his laptop. “This was recorded yesterday.”

The video feed takes place in the interrogation room. David and Detective Jefferson are sitting at one side of the table and there’s a man in a suit sitting on the other side who David says is an attorney. But what really piques his interest—or rather who—is the blonde woman sitting next to the attorney. She’s beautiful, with long blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail and striking green eyes. She’s wearing a black blouse under a fire engine red, two-piece suit and red pumps on her feet. _Bold color choice._ She’s definitely not a woman who lacks confidence. 

“Who is she?”

“This is Dr. Emma Swan. She’s a surgeon at Storybrooke General.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Killian comments, more to himself than to David.

“She’s Anna and Elsa’s cousin. But this conversation and what I’m showing you has to stay between us. I’m only here to visit with an old friend, got it? I haven’t even told Mary Margaret that Anna and Elsa’s cousin is involved in the case.”

Killian nods. “I understand, but what’s her crime? Dressing too nicely. Being too pretty?” he quips with a smirk.

David rolls his eyes. “This is serious, Jones.” He reverts his gaze to the computer screen. “Her colleague, Dr. Graham Humbert, was murdered seven days ago in the Storybrooke General parking lot. They were rival surgeons who bickered and teased each other all the time. Both were vying for the Chief of Surgery position he was appointed to just a week before he was murdered.”

“And you think she offed him for his job title?” Killian asks, unable to take his eyes off her. She doesn’t look like your typical suspect by any means. She’s calm and still, her arms and legs crossed casually, her face expressionless. Typically, people who were being questioned for a felony offense trembled, couldn’t sit still and would sweat profusely. But not this woman. He can't detect any sign of fear or worry in her eyes, her posture or her behavior. 

“I think there’s more to it than that, but yes, I think she had something to do with his death. The night he was murdered, Dr. Swan was with Graham at the Rabbit Hole. According to other colleagues who were also there celebrating Graham’s promotion, the two surgeons were having an intimate discussion.”

Killian lifts a brow. “You think they were lovers?”

“According to Emma and everyone else, they weren’t. They often squabbled, but it was mostly friendly. They respected each other.” 

“Ah, I see.”

“Dr. Swan said he walked her to her car that night, and before she left, she saw him head back inside. According to the bar owner and his employees who were on duty that night, Dr. Humbert left the bar an hour later, around eleven o’clock and went home. His phone records show he received a call at 2:20 in the morning, but it was from a restricted number.”

“And let me guess, the number was untraceable?”

“Yep. But whoever called him knew the safety code.”

“Safety code?”

“Anyone who calls in hospital staff is required to supply the safety code. You know, like when parents give their kids a safety word for emergencies so they don’t get abducted by strangers.”

“So, whoever called Humbert was someone who works at the hospital?”

“Possibly, and either that person had something to do with his murder or it’s a sheer coincidence the phone call preceded his death by only twenty minutes. But no one I spoke with at the hospital knew about the phone call or why he would've been called in. He wasn't on call that night.”

“Was Dr. Humbert married?”

“Nope, never was. A few people I interviewed mentioned he once had a fling with Dr. Regina Mills, head of Cardiology, but it ended four years ago. She’s now happily married.”

“Maybe they still had something together, but kept it secret so her husband didn’t find out? And if so, maybe her husband found out and is the one who murdered him?”

“The husband, Mr. Locksley owns the Rabbit Hole, and he was closing the bar at the time Dr. Humbert was murdered. One of his employees was there to corroborate that.” 

“Dr. Mills didn’t take his last name when they got married?”

“No, I asked her about it during the interview, and she said she wanted to keep her maiden name to avoid confusing her regular patients.”

“And where was she that night?”

“She was tending to a patient with cardiac arrest.” 

“What was the cause of Dr. Humbert's death?”

David clears his throat and retrieves a folder from his bag, pulls out some photos and spreads them over the table. 

Killian swallows the sizable lump in his throat. The photos are of the murder victim with a knife lodged in beneath his left arm. 

“Massive hemorrhaging from the stab wound.”

Killian picks up one of the photos, studying it. “And the knife’s untraceable as well?” he asks bitterly, though he doesn’t need to. He already knows the answer.

“Of course. The knife is an average filleting knife that could’ve come from any kitchen. The blade went through clean as a whistle and popped Dr. Humbert's heart like a balloon. And no fingerprints. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. Or she.”

“Like another doctor?”

David shrugs. “Possibly.”

“And you’re certain the cardiologist was with a patient? She would know exactly where to stab a person to make it fatal.”

“I checked the hospital security footage for verification. She went into her patient’s room at the time of the murder. Her alibi checks out.”

“Were there any witnesses?”

“A security guard saw Humbert pull into the parking lot but never saw him go inside. When he left his post to check on Dr. Humbert, he found Graham’s body near his car. The murderer was like a ghost. Never seen, never heard. He left without a fucking trace.”

The hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand on end. “Cassidy...” He cringes from merely speaking his name.

David nods. “Question is, who hired him?”

“This Dr. Swan… is she married?” Killian doesn’t think Emma had anything to do with the murder, but perhaps a jealous lover who saw her with Graham that night hired Cassidy. He’s drawing straws though.

“No husband or boyfriend to speak of. She lives alone. No kids, not even birth parents. She was shuffled around from one foster home to another until she was adopted at the age of ten—by Anna and Elsa’s aunt. I’m sure you've heard the story?”

“Aye, after their parents died in a car accident, Anna and Elsa went to stay with their Aunt Ingrid and her adopted daughter.” Killian points at the computer screen. “That’s her?”

David nods. “Yep. The aloof cousin.” 

“Huh.” Why has he never met this aloof cousin? Of course, if he’d known she was so gorgeous, he’d have made that happen a long time ago, but he'd never seen a picture of her, at least not one of her as an adult. If he had, he would have recognized her on the video. Killian shakes off the thoughts and studies the photos again. “I don’t get how a good-looking, successful doctor like this man stayed single?” Or a beautiful, successful doctor like Emma for that matter.

David shrugs. “He probably was by choice. Maybe he was too focused on his career and thought a romantic relationship would only distract him. Or maybe he was in love with Regina and knew he couldn’t have her, so he didn’t want anyone else.”

“Or maybe he was in love with someone else?” Killian poses. If he were Graham and had a female friend like Emma, he doubts he’d have only platonic feelings for her. “You said he walked Emma to her car that night?”

“That’s right.”

“Was there a kiss goodnight?”

“When I questioned Dr. Swan, she said they hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek. I asked her if that was normal and she said no. It surprised her. But I checked the video footage in front of the bar. Mr. Locksley set up a camera there after someone tried to throw a rock through the door window a couple of years ago.”

“To steal alcohol?”

“Or cash from the till,” David shrugs. “Whatever their reason was, they weren’t successful. Probably got spooked by someone who saw them. Anyway, the hug between the two surgeons lasted too long to be friendly.”

“How long?”

“Ten seconds.”

“How long is a normal hug?”

“A few seconds, maybe more, depending on the relationship of the person you’re hugging. But ten seconds is too long if you’re only friends. Or frenemies in this case. So maybe, Graham had feelings for her but she didn’t return them? Maybe Graham made her feel uncomfortable or said something to her when he hugged her, and that, topped with him getting the promotion she desired was enough to want him dead.”

Killian mulls it over for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, it’s too obvious. She’s smarter than that. She’s a doctor and has way more education than both of us combined. If she really wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have hired someone to murder him a week after his promotion. I don’t think she hired Cassidy.”

David cocks a brow, a sly smirk curving his lips. “So does that mean you’re in?”

“I didn’t say that,” Killian grumbles.

“But it’s been over five minutes. Which means I’ve intrigued you. Otherwise, we’d be outside with my wife and kids right now.”

_Bloody hell_. 

David’s right. Killian _is_ intrigued, and not solely by the case, but by the blonde woman on David’s computer screen. He wants to know more about her; he wants to find out more information. He has a gut feeling about her; he knows she didn’t murder Dr. Humbert. He doesn’t believe the whole _rival surgeons_ scenario is a motive for murder. He and David also bicker and tease each other, but he would never murder David over a job promotion. “Okay, fine. I’m intrigued. But as I said, I don’t think she had anything to do with Dr. Humbert’s murder.” 

David makes a noise of hesitance and appears to be unsure about Killian’s assessment. “There’s something else you should know that might change your mind.”

Killian cocks a brow. “What’s that?”

“Did you hear about Cassidy’s most recent trial?”

Killian shakes his head. “I stopped watching the news or following any media regarding that arsehole,” Killian mutters. “Not knowing there’s yet another victim left in his path of destruction is the only way I can sleep at night.”

“He was acquitted from another capital punishment.” 

Killian scoffs. “So he got away with another murder? What else is new?”

David sighs and fast-forwards through the video. “Just listen.” He hits play.

_“Dr. Swan, did you recently serve on a jury that recently acquitted an accused contract killer, Neal Gold?”_

Killian’s eyebrow jumps, and he reclines in his chair, crossing his arms.

_“What’s the relevance of the question, Detective?” Mr. Hopper asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose._

_David raises his hand in defense. “I’ll get to that, I promise.”_

_“Please do very quickly,” Emma says curtly. “Some of us don’t have time for unnecessary interviews. I have patients waiting for me.”_

_David sighs. “The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can leave.”_

_She expels a tentative breath. “Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”_

_“And were you or were you not the forewoman?”_

Killian swallows the lump in his throat. 

_“I was. But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”_

“Feisty lass,” Killian remarks with a subtle smirk.

David nods. “That’s for sure. Feisty but polite.” 

They revert their attention to the video.

_“That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”_

_Emma narrows her eyes at the insinuation. “Dr. Humbert and I were not adversaries. We were friendly colleagues.”_

_“Yes, you were a colleague of his who wanted the promotion he got, and recently let a contract killer back on the streets.”_

_Her eyes widen as she lunges forward in her seat. “I didn’t free him. The judge made the final decision. My job was to determine the facts and reach a verdict based on all the facts and evidence. In that case, the evidence was lacking.”_

_Her attorney puts out his hand to stop her from continuing to speak any further. “Detective, Mr. Gold’s crime was alleged and has no relevance to this case.”_

David pauses the video. “Some of the jurors said Cassidy and the doctor kept making eyes at each other.

Killian quirks a brow. He doesn't doubt any straight, red-blooded male would be attracted to Emma, but he highly doubts a woman of her class, beauty and intelligence would be interested in a scumbag like Cassidy. “Did you question her about it?”

“Yes, she claimed he kept staring at her, but that his attentions were very much unwanted. That’s as far as I got before Mr. Hopper stood and asked if there were any more unnecessary questions I wanted to ask her.”

“So, you think the doctor hired Cassidy to eliminate her competition?”

“The crime scene had his name written all over it.”

“I’m not arguing that. But I don’t think someone like _her,”_ Killian says, pointing at the paused screen, “would get involved with someone like that piece of scum.” The thought makes him utterly sick to his stomach.

“He may be scum, but he’s clever scum. That’s why your brother coined his moniker, remember?”

“Aye.” He remembers very well when Liam began calling him Cassidy. 

One time Killian asked his brother why he called him that, and he said Neal’s father, a convicted felon Liam successfully put behind bars, was referred to only as his surname, Gold. To avoid any confusion, he didn’t call Neal by his surname too, nor did he wish to call Neal by his first name—Liam never called perps by their first name—so initially, Neal was the clever killer because he seemed to be an exception to Locard's Exchange Principle, which asserts, “ _the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and leave with something from it,”_ and that _“both can be used as_ _forensic evidence_ _.”_ Dr. Edmond Locard was the Sherlock Holmes of France who came up with the basic principle of forensic science, “ _every contact leaves a trace.”_

While Cassidy always leaves a weapon at the scene, he never purchases the weapons, or at least there is never a trace of the purchase. He also never leaves fingerprints. There was only one single time when Cassidy was sloppy and accidentally left something of his behind and that was when he murdered Liam. But he never took anything from his victims. 

The name _Cassidy_ was brought up when Elsa became pregnant with Camila and they were deciding on names. Elsa had mentioned Cassidy as a possible name for their daughter, and when Liam looked up the name to see what it meant, he discovered the origins of the name and that it meant _clever._ So it became Neal’s nickname.

When Liam’s daughter was born, he suggested they call her Camila, which means _perfect_ , and Elsa was immediately on board with it. Killian’s glad Liam and Elsa didn’t end up naming their child Cassidy. How ironic would it have been if Liam gave his daughter the same name he gave the man who eventually killed him? 

Liam never mentioned Neal Gold to Elsa, he didn’t like bringing work home with him and he especially didn’t like to cause his wife any distress by talking about a notorious serial killer on the loose. He didn’t want Elsa to worry about her husband, and while she knew the risks that came with Liam’s job as a homicide detective, he made her believe he mostly reviewed old, unsolved cases. 

After Liam died, Killian promised Elsa he’d find her husband’s killer. While no one was certain of who murdered Liam because there was no evidence, except for a single thread of fabric left behind at the crime scene, Killian and David _knew._ But Killian botched any chance they had of convicting Cassidy and failed Elsa and Camila in the process. Not only did he fail, but he’s the reason why Cassidy couldn’t be convicted. He acted on high emotions after Liam’s death. He was so angry and vengeful, he was willing to do whatever it took to put Cassidy behind bars. And that’s exactly why he failed. He didn’t think. He made a split decision, and several people have subsequently paid the price for that decision. Now a highly respected surgeon has been added to that list, along with who knows how many others.

“So, how will you proceed?” Killian asks skittishly, afraid of what David’s answer might be.

“Not me. _Us,”_ David says. “I need your help.”

“Why me? Why not Scarlet or Jefferson?”

“Because I need someone with your instincts, someone _good,_ and you're better than them or anyone else in our department. Besides, no one knows Cassidy like you do.”

Killian shakes his head. “I can’t. Any case involving Cassidy is personal for me. After he killed—” His voice cracks. He can’t even force the rest of the words out. “I can't.”

“Come on, Killian. I’m not asking you to come back permanently; just this one case, that's it,” David pleads. “If you won’t do this for _me,_ do it for your brother.”

_Damn it, Nolan._ Why did he have to go and use _that_ card? 

Killian sighs and stands up, pacing the kitchen. When he reaches David again, he stops and places his hands on his hips. “Let’s say I said yes, what would you want me to do?”

“Search for any clues that will tell us if Emma and Cassidy are in alliance.”

Killian furrows his brows. “Since you need probable cause, I'm guessing you don't have a warrant for Dr. Swan, so how do you suppose I do that?”

David shakes his head. “Ah-ah, I’m not telling you until you say you’re in.”

Killian sighs dramatically as he drags his hand over his face. He has a feeling he’s not going to like whatever plan David has up his sleeve. But he misses working with him again, and he has to admit, he still doesn’t believe Emma had anything to do with her colleague’s murder. So perhaps he can go along with David’s plan to prove that. He looks at David again and with a curt nod, he makes it official. “I’m in.”

To that, David says nothing, just grins complacently.

Killian gulps. What the bloody hell did he just sign up for?


	5. Chapter 4

Killian knocks on the door and lets out a slow, troubled breath as he turns around, sliding his hands into his pockets. He’s rarely here, but it’s time he changes that. And not just for the case, but for Liam. For his sister-in-law. He used to come over to visit Liam, Elsa and Camila all the time, but Liam’s death caused tension between him and Elsa. He just hates that it took this long; he hates that David had to pull Killian’s head out of the Port Lavaca sand for him to realize this. 

“Killian?”

The sound of his sister-in-law’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns around, offering a faint smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Elsa says, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms as she stands in the doorway. “I wasn't expecting you.” 

“Nice to see you too, love,” he teases with a smirk. When her solemn expression never changes into something more cheerful, his smile dims. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s just… usually you call ahead first.”

Killian scratches behind his ear. “Apologies, love, I just…”

“Camila’s out shopping with Anna.”

“Dress shopping?”

“No, we ordered her dress weeks ago. Anna's just getting her some new clothes. They’ll probably be back in an hour or so.”

“That’s okay. Actually, I came here to talk to you.”

Elsa studies him for a moment with a scrupulous eye. “Okay...” She opens the door for him, her features laced with concern. “Is everything alright?” 

“Aye, everything’s fine,” he replies as he steps inside. She shuts the door behind him as he turns around to face her, expelling a tentative breath. “Actually, no, it’s not,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting hers. “It hasn’t been for a while… and I wanna change that.”

Elsa knits her brows in confusion. “What do you mean? What’s going on, Killian?”

He gestures between them. “I’m talking about us, Elsa. You and me. We haven't had the same relationship since Liam passed, and I’m mostly to blame for that.”

Elsa arches a brow as if to say, _are you sure about that?_

Killian chuckles. “Okay, I take all the blame.”

Elsa folds her arms over her chest, her features softening. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Killian tilts his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Can we sit? The conversation might be too heavy for standing.”

“Sure,” she says, heading toward the kitchen. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“Got any wine?” he asks as he follows behind her. 

Elsa turns her head toward him, her thin brows climbing her forehead. “Since when did you become a wine drinker?”

“Not for me, for you. You might need it.”

“That heavy, huh?”

“Aye.”

“Well, I have some white wine, but Camila will be home soon and I don’t drink around her. Iced Tea okay?”

“Aye. How’s she doing?” he asks as he takes a seat at the breakfast nook.

Elsa grabs a pitcher of tea from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cupboard, filling them to the brim. “She’s doing fine.” She brings the drinks to the table, hands him one and sits across from him. “She’s growing like a weed.”

Killian chuckles. “Well, she gets the tall gene from both parents. Liam was six feet tall and you’re what, 5’8?” he guesses before taking a sip of his tea, the glass slick with condensation.

“5’7,” she corrects, her lips finally cracking into a faint smile. “5’9 in high heels.”

“Still, she’s already taller than most kids her age.”

“She is,” Elsa nods in agreement and takes a sip. 

An awkward silence fills the room, apart from the slow tick of the wall clock, and Killian scratches behind his ear, not sure where to begin. Things are definitely not like they used to be. He used to be able to talk to Elsa like they were… well brother and sister. Sometimes they got along, sometimes they didn’t. But there had never been actual friction between them like there is now. He clears the cobwebs from his throat, breaking the silence. “So, um… I came here to apologize to you.”

“Why? Because our relationship hasn’t been the same?”

“Aye,” he nods, “and also because I never formally apologized to you for what happened after Liam… after he died.”

“Killian, you don’t have to—”

He puts out his hand dismissively. “I do, Elsa. I screwed up. If I hadn’t gone after Cassidy the way I did, he would’ve been on death row. He’d be long gone by now.”

Elsa offers a half-smile and takes his hands in hers. “Killian, whatever you could’ve done or should’ve done or didn’t do, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t have brought Liam back. So stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

Killian furrows his brows. “I don’t. Not anymore. But I thought _you_ did.”

Elsa shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears. “At first I blamed everyone and everything. I blamed Liam for not telling me about Cassidy or about the danger he was in. I blamed myself for not telling him to be careful every single time he left the house—” Her voice cracks as a tear rolls down her cheek. She laughs as she removes her hand from Killian’s to wipe her tears. “Hell. I even blamed the cat.”

Killian offers a weak smile. “I blamed Snickers, too,” he jokes, making her laugh again. “I always thought he was an evil cat.”

“But it didn’t matter who we blamed. Liam’s gone, and he’s never coming back. I’ve had to drag myself out of bed every goddamn morning knowing he wouldn’t suddenly walk through the front door telling me he fooled everyone into thinking he was dead. I’ve had to convince myself I wouldn’t wake up one day and find him in the shower and realize the past three years were all a dream.”

He chuckles. “Nice _Dallas_ reference.” 

She laughs. “Thanks. Did you ever watch the reboot?”

He used to watch the reruns of the original Dallas with Liam and Elsa after the reboot came out. They watched it for shits and giggles and because it was based in Texas, but who doesn’t secretly love a trashy sitcom? “No, did you?”

She shakes her head. “Never did.”

“So if you didn't blame me for Cassidy getting away, then why did you hate me for the past three years?” Killian asks, getting back to the matter at hand. 

“I didn't hate you, Killian. I never hated you. It was just...” She pauses with a heavy sigh. “It was just easier to avoid you.” As she speaks, her eyes drift away from him and she looks up the ceiling, trying to fight off more tears. “It was too hard to look at you because every time I did, I saw _him._ I still do,” she wheezes, a sad smile on her face as her eyes fall back to his. “It brought back too much pain.”

His heart tightens at the way she looks at him. He’s been told his whole life he and his brother had the same eyes, but he didn’t know how true it was until now. And he guessed he could see the resemblance in pictures or when he looked into the mirror, but he never realized how much their resemblance would affect his sister-in-law. 

“And it’s bad enough I live with Liam’s female mini-me,” she says, laughter catching in her throat. 

“I can imagine.” Killian’s lips twitch into a small smile. Camila has brown, curly hair and blue eyes like Liam did. “Here I was under the impression you blamed me all this time. I thought you still held some kind of grudge against me for letting Liam’s killer get away with what he’d done.”

Elsa shakes her head. “I blamed you for a long time, believe me. Then I realized it's pointless to place blame. I mean, I could blame my sister for leaving the flash on my phone seven years ago, but if she hadn't, then Liam and I probably wouldn’t have met and we wouldn't have gotten married and had Camila. We wouldn't have had an amazing life together, even if his was cut too short.”

“You're wrong about that, you know? You and Liam still would've met if we didn't catch you snapping his picture.”

Elsa rolls her eyes and laughs. “I know he said he also noticed me in the restaurant, but you and I both know he would've been too shy to approach me.” 

“Aye, that's what little brothers are for. They make the perfect wingmen,” Killian chuckles.

“You mean _younger_ brother?”

“Aye.” When the laughter dies in his throat, his smile dims as he stares into his glass of tea. “Truth be told, I would give anything to hear him call me _little brother_ again.”

She smiles. “I know you would.”

He nods, looking up at her again. “He noticed you as soon as you entered the restaurant and his eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. His expression changed like a light switch. As though he were living in the darkness and suddenly a light turned on. I had never seen him look at anyone like he looked at you. And the second he looked over to catch you taking his picture after we saw that flash from your phone go off, he was a goner.”

Elsa nods with a laugh. “Yeah, I literally shined the light in his eyes.”

“You did,” he agrees with a chuckle.

“And you were next.”

Killian furrows his brows and points a finger at my chest. “Me?”

“Yep. I took Liam’s picture for _myself,_ and I was going to take your picture for Anna. Before the flash went off, my plan was to get up, use the ladies’ room and snap your photo when I headed back to my seat. But thanks to Anna using my phone a couple nights before to take a group picture outside a nightclub, the flash was on and I was caught red-handed. And who knows, if that flash never went off, you could be the one marrying my sister on Saturday,” she teases. That was Anna and Elsa’s thing apparently—to take pictures of cute guys and text them to each other. That’s why Elsa was taking a picture of Liam that evening in the restaurant; she just didn’t realize the flash was on until she snapped the photo.

Killian shakes his head. “That would be too weird. She’s family.”

“True, but she wasn't back then.” Elsa takes a sip of her tea before setting her glass down. “It’s too bad my cousin ended up getting called into work that evening because you two might have hit it off… well actually you probably would’ve butted heads, but as they say, opposites attract,” she smirks.

Killian arches a brow. “I have two questions,” he says, counting the questions on his index and middle finger, “Which cousin? And is she pretty?”

Elsa laughs. “Emma. And yes, she’s very pretty. She was supposed to have dinner with me and my Aunt Ingrid that night, but canceled because she got called into work. She’s a doctor.”

“Really? She’s smart _and_ pretty, and you’ve never introduced us?” he asks, pretending to be offended before he takes a sip of his tea. He wouldn’t describe her as pretty though. More like stunningly beautiful.

“And she's three years older than us. I know how you like your women older,” she smirks.

Killian rolls his eyes, not appreciating the off handed remark. “I dated an older woman once a long time ago, yet I never hear the end of it.” He's surprised Emma's thirty-eight even though he shouldn't be, considering she was the runner-up for Chief of Surgery and obviously has the education, training and experience for the rank. She certainly doesn't look her age though. She looks thirty, maybe thirty-five.

Elsa laughs. “Oh come on, I'm only teasing. Anyway, Emma's always working. And I mean _always._ She works at Storybrooke General which is always on alert for major disasters _._ I hardly ever see her, and we lived together for five years when we were kids. She even missed mine and Liam’s wedding, but to be fair, she was on her way to the chapel when the entire hospital staff got called in. Remember that hundred-car pileup on I-10 the morning of the wedding?”

Killian nods. “Aye, of course I do. Gusty winds and a sudden whiteout caused the semi-truck driver to hit the car in front of him. 120 injuries, two fatalities. And there were multiple lanes closed while the DPS investigated. It was a huge mess.”

“That’s the one.”

They live in Central Texas, a region where it rarely snows, but on Liam and Elsa’s big day in early December, no one saw the snowstorm coming.

“Thankfully, everyone arrived safely at the wedding. I was an emotional wreck as it was,” Elsa says, recalling very vividly how stressed she was that day.

“It’s a shame Emma couldn’t have been there though.” Killian was the best man at that wedding and happily witnessed his brother exchange vows with the woman of Liam’s dreams.

She shrugs. “Yes, it was, but she saved several lives that day, so I couldn’t really be mad at her.”

Killian nods in agreement. He wants to ask more about Emma, but he’s afraid Elsa would be onto his intentions in a heartbeat. So instead they continue their heavy conversation about Liam and how they’ve missed out on so much by being closed off to each other. As far as she or anyone else is concerned, Killian no longer works for the SBPD, nor is he a detective. But even so, Elsa knows the difference between casual chit chat and being interrogated by a cop since she was with one for four years. She knows fairly well how a detective’s mind works. And while Killian investigates Dr. Swan, it’s essential no one finds out, especially Elsa and Anna. The only person outside of SBPD who knows Killian is working on the case is Mary Margaret, but only because David didn’t wish to lie to his wife. 

“So, what do you say, Elsa? Can we be brother and sister-in-law again?” Killian asks with puppy dog eyes.

Elsa rises from her chair, opening her arms for him. “Yes, I suppose we can.”

Killian follows her lead and stands up to hug Elsa. He expels a lengthy sigh of relief as he wraps her up in his arms, both of them expressing through physical closeness what they could never express in words with each other over the last three years—sorrow, regret, guilt, but also forgiveness and appreciation. And as they hug, he counts the seconds, curious to know just how long two people who care about each other platonically would actually hug. He counts eleven seconds before they break it. But those eleven seconds were much needed and a long time coming. Though the length of the hug wasn’t even close to making up for the three years they had missed out on hugs, it was enough. 

Nevertheless, Killian concludes, two people can share a hug for ten seconds or more without it being romantic. Emma may not have had romantic feelings for Humbert, but she cared for him. And someone who cares a great deal about someone else couldn’t possibly want them dead, especially not over a job promotion.

“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” Elsa says, another tear spilling down her cheek.

Killian nods as he lifts his hand to wipe it away with his thumb. “Agreed. Sorry I’ve been a stubborn ass.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry I’ve been an ice queen.”

He smirks and kisses her forehead. “You’re forgiven.”

She shoves him playfully in the chest and laughs. “Hey, you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“Oof.” He places his hand there, pretending to be wounded. “I mean, you were never an ice queen,” he chuckles. 

They hear the front door open, and when she heads out of the kitchen, Killian follows behind her, hearing loud chatter and excitement.

“Uncle Killy!” Camila hurdles toward him like an Olympic sprinter, and Killian chuckles as he scoops his neice into his arms and lifts her up. 

“Hey, little love, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she says, laying her head on his chest. 

Killian glances over her to see Elsa and Anna smiling at them.“You were right, she is growing like a weed.”

Camila suddenly lifts her head up, her eyes wide with excitement. “Uncle Killy, wanna see my flower girl dress?”

“Of course I do.” He looks over at Elsa and Anna again. “If that’s okay with them of course.”

Elsa laughs. “Of course it is.” She looks at her daughter. “Camila, let’s take your new clothes upstairs and you can show me what you got first,” she says, grabbing the shopping bags from Anna. 

After Killian sets his niece down, Elsa takes Camila’s hand in her free one and walks with her upstairs.

“I see you two finally made up,” Anna comments once Elsa and Camila are out of sight. 

“Aye we did,” he confirms as they move toward each other. “It was a long time coming. How could you tell?”

She smiles. “Because of how cheerful she is around you now, instead of being all quiet and broody.”

He chuckles. “The proper term is Ice Queen.” He points upstairs. “Her words, not mine.”

“Yep, that pretty much describes it,” she laughs. “So, how have you been?”

He shrugs. “I’m doing better now that I get to spend more time with my niece and sister-in-law. How about you? Ready for Saturday?”

She groans and shakes her head. “Is any bride ever ready for their wedding? I mean, yes, I’m ready to get married to Kristoff, but there's still so many things to do and so little time. I needed a break, so I took Camila out for lunch and shopping, but I let her pick everything. I'm sick of making decisions,” she laughs.

He smiles. “I can imagine.” He scratches behind his ear. “Well, if there’s any way I can help out, I’d be happy to—” 

“Uncle Killy, look at my dress! Don’t I look like a princess?!”

Killian looks up to see the prettiest five-year-old he’s ever seen as she bounds down the stairs, her brown curls bouncing around her. She’s wearing a purple, off the shoulder ball gown, embellished with flowers, beads and applique. He smiles and nods. “Aye, little love, it’s a dress fit for a princess.”

When Camila reaches the bottom of the staircase, she gathers the skirt of her dress in each hand and curtsies. “Thank you.”

He chuckles. “She’s even mastered the manners perfectly. You’ll make a fine flower girl.” 

“That was fast,” Anna comments to her sister as she makes her way down the stairs.

“I know. She was so excited to show Uncle Killy her dress, she wouldn't even show me the clothes you bought her,” she laughs. 

Killian looks at Elsa with puppy dog eyes, making sure to lay the guilt trip on thick. “It’s just a shame I won’t be at the wedding to see her walk down the aisle in it.” He glances at Anna. “Or to see the bride in her wedding gown.”

As expected, he witnesses the guilt flashing in Anna’s eyes, and in Elsa’s. 

“Killian, I wanted to invite you, but—”

“But Elsa asked you not to?” Killian guesses, ninety-nine percent sure he’s correct.

Anna looks at her sister. 

Elsa nods. “I did, but that was before we talked, Killian. I just didn’t want to bring any family drama to my sister’s wedding.”

He puts up his hand to stop her from continuing. “Say no more, Elsa. I understand, it's fine.”

“You’re not going, Uncle Killy?” Camila asks, her big blue eyes shining with unshed tears, her bottom lip trembling.

Killian gives her a sad smile. “I’m afraid I wasn't invited, little love. But I will want pictures. Lots of pictures.” 

“But why not?” She looks up at her mum. “Mommy, why can't Uncle Killy come to Auntie Anna’s wedding?”

He glances over at Elsa, who seems to be having a telepathic conversation with her sister.

He refrains from smirking because, one, he and Liam used to do the same thing when they didn't want anyone to hear their conversation, and two, he knows Anna is caving to Elsa’s unspoken request.

Anna turns to look at him. “You’re welcome to come to the wedding, Killian.”

His eyebrows climb his forehead in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, we have a couple extra seats available. An old friend of mine from college and her husband flaked out at the last minute.”

“I don’t have to sit or even eat anything, I just want to be there to watch you get married and to spend time with my niece and sister-in-law.” And meet your aloof cousin who might be a murder suspect.

“There will be an open bar and buffet at the reception, so there’s no assigned seating. You’ll be able to sit _and_ eat and spend time with family. That is if you can forgive me for not inviting you in the first place.”

Killian grins and gives Anna a hug. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“Yay! Uncle Killy’s coming!” Camila chants, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

“Thank you, Anna,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek.

“Of course. You’re still family, Killian. Don’t forget that. Oh, and you get a plus one, so you can bring a date if you'd like.”

He waves off her words with his hand. “I’m sure Princess Camila will be my date.”

Elsa furrows her brows. “Princess Camilla? Don’t you mean Duchess? And isn’t she a bit too old, even for you? Not to mention five thousand miles away?”

Killian shakes his head and chuckles. “I'm not talking about the Duchess of Cornwall, I’m referring to my niece.” He kneels down in front of Camila, taking her hands in his. “Will you do me the honor of being my date to Aunt Anna’s wedding?”

She giggles and nods. “Yes, I will, Uncle Killy.”

“Perfect,” he says with a cheeky grin. “Does that mean I get the first dance with the lovely princess?” 

She nods. “Why yes it does.” 

He chuckles and scoops her into his arms, picking her up and facing Anna and Elsa. “I don’t need a plus one, I already have a date.”

“Be careful of her dress,” Elsa chides, eyes wide with concern as she smooths out the skirt of Camila’s dress. “Princess gowns are not cheap.”

“You mean to tell me Killian Jones can't find a woman his own age to take to my wedding?” Anna teases, hands on her hips. “You have to steal your five-year-old niece?” 

“Oi, I can get a woman my own age,” he frowns. “Even though it’s not as easy since I was invited at the last minute,” he’s quick to point out, “it’s still doable. But why search for one when I already have the perfect date?”

Elsa and Anna laugh and shake their heads as Killian sets his niece down on her feet.

“Why don’t you go up and change out of your dress so you don’t ruin it, Camila. Do you want Mommy’s help?”

Camila shakes her head. “No, I can do it, Mommy. I promise I’ll be careful.” She lifts the skirt of her dress so she doesn't trip over it and heads upstairs, sad she has to change out of her ballgown.

“Lay the dress neatly on the bed so it doesn't get wrinkles,” Elsa calls out to her daughter.

“Okay, Mommy.”

Camila disappears into her bedroom as the sisters have a conversation among themselves. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you Emma RSVP'd?” Anna asks Elsa.

Killian's ears perk up at the mention of Emma's name, and he can’t help but listen in on their conversation.

“No, you didn’t. I’m surprised she’s going considering she lost her colleague recently.”

Anna gasps, placing a hand on her chest. “Oh my, what happened?”

“Didn’t you see the news? Dr. Humbert was stabbed to death in the hospital parking lot. The police don't know who did it yet. Did you hear about that, Killian?” Elsa asks him, both of the sisters turning to look at him.

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. I don’t pay much attention to the news anymore.”

“It was so tragic.”

“Was he a friend of Emma’s?” Killian inquires casually.

“Yes, he was. She always mentioned him in conversation when she talked about work. It was always, _Graham said this_ or _Graham did that_ and the story usually ended with us in a fit of giggles.”

“And they were only friends?” he asks after deciding the question wouldn't be too prying.

“As far as I know. She never sent me a picture of him indicating otherwise.”

“Ah, I see,” Killian chuckles, catching her drift. “Emma did that too?”

“Yeah,” Elsa says with a smile and looks at Anna. “You started it when you were what, fourteen and I was seventeen? Back when we had to use Polaroids to take pictures and send them through AOL messenger. We would send them to Emma in a group chat while she was away at college. But she's only sent us a couple pics of cute guys over the years.”

“Really? Only a couple?” he asks, leaning against the island counter with his arms crossed. 

“Yeah, she’s always been too focused on her career to think about boys. I remember she once had a boyfriend when she went to Harvard Medical School, but he broke her heart. She hasn’t dated since then. Or at least that I know of.”

Killian nods, debating with himself whether he should ask anymore questions about Emma, but he doesn’t want to seem obvious. Besides, he’d rather talk to her himself to find out more about her. Now that he’s going to the wedding and knows for certain she’ll be there, barring any hospital emergencies of course, he’ll get that chance.

“Like I said, we don’t talk as much anymore.” Elsa turns her head to look at Anna. “It’s nice she’s going to your wedding though.” 

Anna agrees before her sister heads upstairs to make sure Camila is able to get out of her dress okay. 

After they return downstairs, Killian spends some time with the three of them before he leaves to return to the motel room the SBPD had paid for after he agreed to help with the case. As soon as he's out the door, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and calls David.

“I’m on the guest list,” Killian says and also informs him Emma's going to the wedding as well.

“Excellent. Do you have something to wear?”

“No, but I’ll pick something up.” Killian curses under his breath as he climbs into his truck, remembering he doesn’t even have a gift for the bride and groom. “I have to get a wedding gift too.”

David recommends Royal Tuxedo and texts him the link to the bride and groom’s gift registry website.

“Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.” David gives Killian some instructions for the wedding and a reminder of how to behave around Elsa and Anna’s cousin, to which Killian rolls his eyes. 

“I’m always a gentleman,” he claims defensively. “Emma will be in perfectly good hands, trust me.

“Which is exactly what worries me,” David grumbles. “That brings me to my next friendly reminder…” 

“Which is?”

“Keep your dick in your pants.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” 

David’s correct—Killian heard him alright—he just can’t believe David felt he needed to say it. Killian’s a grown man, not a prepubescent child. 

“Any man with two eyes, a brain and a beating heart can see the doctor is attractive.”

Killian frowns. “So? I know how to keep it in my pants, even for a pretty blonde doctor, thank you very much. I do that far too often in fact.”

“I'm serious, Jones. Emma's a suspect, and she might be in cahoots with Cassidy.”

“Trust me, if she _is_ in cahoots with Cassidy, I won't want anything to do with her personally. She could be bare naked on a bed dripping wet with her legs spread, begging for me and I still wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole.” Okay that's a lie. He might touch her just once with _his_ pole. Or twice, because _gods,_ if she were spread out on the bed begging for him, how could he resist her? 

He has to think about something else to prevent his pole from getting hard at the image he implanted in his own mind. 

Too late. 

He shifts in his seat, repositioning himself when an unbidden groan slips out. 

_Bloody hell._

“Did you just groan?”

“No, it was a grunt, expressing my hatred for Cassidy.” Killian's statement may not be the entire truth, but he does harbor much hatred for Cassidy. “I want that bastard, David, and I'm not about to let him slip through my fingers by getting my rocks off with a pretty blonde, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes to get him.” 

“Which is the second way this could go terribly wrong for us,” David murmurs, far from reassured by Killian's statement. “Don’t turn this into a personal vendetta.” 

“If you're that worried I might screw this up, then why did you come to me asking for my help?” Killian questions, his words laced with irritation. 

David raises his voice. “You already know why I asked for your help. Just don't make me sorry I did.”

Killian hangs up and tosses his phone into the passenger seat before peeling out of Elsa’s driveway cursing to himself. As angry he is, he knows David has good reason for worrying. While Nolan has always been the level headed detective who plays by the rules, Killian is the rebel who has a careless approach to regulations and often lets his emotions take the lead. But still, he has another shot at getting that bastard and he’s not about to screw this one up.

Cassidy will rue the day he met Killian Jones; he'll make sure of it. Even if it's the last he ever does.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally supposed to be more to this chapter but it ended up being really long so I split it up into two chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Emma surveys the crowded sanctuary, feeling out of the loop and out of place as she is escorted down the aisle by a young usher. It’s been so long since she’s seen family in this capacity, she feels like an outsider. Being distant is her modus operandi. And being a surgeon makes it far too easy for her to use work as an excuse, because then she doesn’t have to socialize or express her feelings or discuss uneasy topics, such as a social life she doesn’t have. Talking about Graham used to be her social lubricant. When she talked about him, it took the focus off her, which she usually prefers, because she hates being in the spotlight; she hates having to talk about herself. While she is always in the literal spotlight of the operating room, she’s able to tune out that fact by focusing on her patients and the procedures. One of the many perks of being a doctor is that her job is to focus on her patients, and she’s good at that. The hospital is her comfort zone because nothing she does there is about her—it’s about her patients; it’s about helping them get better. 

But that feeling of uneasiness had crept up inside her the instant she had entered the church with her adoptive mother. Ingrid had insisted Emma ride with her to the church since Emma's house was on the way. She was reluctant at first because she knew she wouldn’t be able to escape the reception early this way. Or if she ended up getting called into the hospital, she’d have to ask someone to leave and take her. But she also knew she couldn’t say no because it might hurt her adoptive mother’s feelings. 

After Ingrid assured Emma she could use her vehicle if she got called in and that she would be able to hitch a ride home from Elsa, Emma couldn’t really think of any other excuses that wouldn’t make her intentions transparent. Besides, riding to the wedding with Ingrid gave them the opportunity to catch up. But it also gave Ingrid the opportunity to ask Emma how she was doing since her colleague had passed. And suddenly, what was once a social lubricant became an encumberment. It made Emma sad and teary-eyed and not want to be around people. Suddenly, talking about herself didn’t seem so bad after all.

They found Anna in her dressing room, which was pervaded with many laughs, a few tears and a bride who had worked herself into a frenzy of emotions. Nevertheless, Anna and Elsa expressed their deepest condolences for Graham and made a fuss over her and how she is dealing with his death. It’s a painful topic, but knowing the attention aimed at her would be short-lived, given that it's Anna and Kristoff's wedding day, gave Emma a bit of comfort. She'd returned to the sanctuary without Ingrid since her adoptive mother will be the one giving Anna away. After Anna and Elsa’s parents died, Ingrid raised them by herself. The younger sister was only eight at the time and lived under Ingrid’s roof before leaving for college. So Anna saw fit to be given away by the woman who had been more like her mother and father for ten years, rather than her aunt.

As Emma nears the front row of the sanctuary, her smile falters when her eyes stumble upon _him._ That damn detective, David Nolan.

When their eyes connect, she suddenly wants to disappear into a cloud of smoke or run away. 

What the hell is he doing here? 

Oh right, he was Elsa's late husband's best friend and work partner. Thankfully, when he interviewed her about Graham’s murder, he had skipped the pleasantries and had plunged right into the questions. He had seemed to be all business, which she appreciated, she really did. In fact, he reminded her of... well, herself. Very polite, but at the same time asking unpleasant questions. He was only trying to do his job, even if that meant making others feel exposed. Like homicide cases, surgeries are sometimes a lengthy, unpleasant process, but they’re an essential part of the job. So she understands David’s persistence and his need to get down to the nitty-gritty. But to make her a suspect for murder is preposterous! No, they had never met before Graham's murder, but David knew her family, and for him to point his finger at her, for him to think she could collaborate with a murderer left an unsavory taste in her mouth. She supposes his job requires him to separate personal feelings from work-related agendas—her job requires the same—but still, what he has on her is flimsy and pretty damn pathetic. 

Emma drops down in the front pew with a humph. Normally she'd be opposed to sitting in the front, but since Ingrid will be seated next to her after she walks Anna down the aisle, and since Emma's not forced to look at the back of David's head like she would be if she sat in the back, she’s glad to sit in front.

After Kristoff’s parents are seated on the groom’s side of the sanctuary, Kristoff, the groomsmen and the ushers make their way to the front. Next comes the bridesmaids. Emma looks over to see Elsa, the maid of honor, walking down the aisle in her plum-colored gown, holding a matching bouquet and a big smile, her long, silver-blonde hair French braided in the back. Elsa takes her place next to a bridesmaid as her daughter trails after her, scattering purple rose petals along the bridal path. Emma smiles at Camila, who’s brown curls bounce around her shoulders as she walks. Her miniature ball gown makes her look like a princess as she makes her way toward her mother. When she reaches her, Elsa kisses her daughter’s forehead and prompts her to sit by her Aunt Emma.

The bridal procession song begins, and everyone stands for the bride’s grand entrance as she’s escorted by Ingrid, who has a proud smile on her face. Anna proceeds down the aisle in an elegant, off the shoulder gown with a wide neckline as she flashes a big grin, showing off her pearly white teeth. She looks every bit the blushing bride. 

Emma still feels guilty for not attending Elsa’s wedding, even though it was several years ago. Or Liam’s funeral, even though her husband died three years ago. Actually, his death made her feel even more guilty. And she wishes she would’ve known him more, but alas, she had strayed away from family gatherings. She’s a terrible cousin. She’s always had trouble connecting with people, probably because when she was a kid, she never stayed anywhere long enough to connect with anyone. That is until Ingrid adopted her. 

It took Emma a long time to fully feel accepted by Ingrid—to know she wouldn’t be sent off to another foster home. But Ingrid was a very kind and caring mother to her. Even so, Emma failed to develop the social skills her cousins had, even when they moved in with her and Ingrid three years later. Elsa is a little shier than her sister but still less so than Emma. The sisters had done their best to include her in activities and outings, and even though Emma had a close bond with Ingrid, she always felt like an outsider of the group. And the gap between her and the sisters gradually widened over the years.

After the conclusion of the ceremony, the front row is dismissed, and as Emma and Ingrid head down the aisle, she sees David once again, those familiar unpleasant feelings returning. Being the polite gentleman he is, David nods courteously at her, but she only scowls in return. 

“Everything okay, Emma?” Ingrid asks, sensing how tense she is. Probably from the way Emma's jaw twitches as she glares at the detective. 

Emma nods. “Yeah, I just recognize Mr. Nolan as the detective assigned to the case of Graham's murder. He questioned me and my other colleagues who were at the Rabbit Hole that night.”

“Ah, I see. Well, he's a good man. He and Liam worked together at the SBPD.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard.”

“Speaking of Liam, I wonder if his brother is here,” Ingrid says, scanning the pews for him.

Emma averts her eyes from David, trying to rid the negative thoughts of the detective and the case and that creep, Neal Gold. She had thought about calling the police after the phone call Neal made. But she couldn’t get over the fact that David actually thought _she,_ Elsa and Anna’s cousin and a doctor for Christ’s sake, could possibly be capable of murder, even if he didn’t think she had been the one wielding the knife. 

She knew she should've driven her own car in case she felt the need to escape. Hopefully, David won't stoop so low to question her at her cousin's wedding.

“Oh, there he is,” Ingrid says, pulling Emma from her thoughts. 

She looks over to see who Ingrid is waving to. And she guesses the man whose eyes light up as he looks their way and shoots up his hand in the center of the back pew, is him.

Emma loses a breath as she catches a glimpse of him, then quickly looks ahead and keeps moving. Two words come to mind as she makes her way to Ingrid's car.

_Fucking gorgeous._

If only she had her phone in her hand when she saw him, because pulling it out of her clutch purse and stopping to point her phone at him would've been too obvious. It would've been just as bad as snapping a photo of him without knowing the flash was on. Like when Elsa had snapped a photo of Liam the night they met. Emma wasn't there, but she's heard the story several times over the years to know she doesn’t want to be caught in that type of situation.

~*~

Killian thought she was lovely when he saw her on the video footage of the interrogation room with its dim, unpleasant lighting, but _bloody hell,_ she's much more gorgeous in person. He had shown up to the ceremony as late as he could possibly get away with and sat in the back to avoid attracting too much attention from the people who knew him—at least until Emma and Ingrid had left and headed for the country club. 

He could only see the back of her head during the ceremony, but he’d seen enough to know she’s wearing a short, royal blue mermaid style dress that’s sleeveless and shows off her soft curves and bronzed shoulders and arms. Her hair is parted to the left and swept loosely into a swirl bun embellished with a blue flower, and her skin looks tanned, a contrast to the pale, creamy complexion on the video; she must've used a tanning bed or sunbathed on the beach. But he couldn’t get a good enough look to figure out which tanning method she’d used. 

He'd been jealous of the usher who had the pleasure of escorting her down the aisle—had the pleasure of being so close to her, the young lad could probably smell whatever perfume she was wearing. Then Killian had chastised himself for having those thoughts. Emma's a subject of an investigation, regardless of whether or not he thinks she did anything wrong, and he has to think of her as such. He's not allowed to be jealous of ushers or anyone else who comes in contact with her. He has to admit he was very pleased she didn’t show up to the wedding with a date though.

When he arrives at the country club, he parks his truck and grabs the gift he got for Anna and Kristoff. He carries it in with him and leaves it on the table draped with white cloth. He signs the guest book and sees Emma Swan and Ingrid Swan's names above his. He hadn't expected Emma to ride with her adoptive mother. At first he worried it would interfere with his plans, but actually, if he plays his cards right, Emma not having a car to escape early in and unexpectedly might be to his advantage. 

Killian sits with the Nolans, just as he would if he weren't helping David with the case. They don't dare breathe a word about work; they share some laughs and after the bridal party makes their entrance, the tables are dismissed one by one and Killian helps his nephews fill their plates with food from the buffet. He tries not to stare at Emma, but he can't help himself. Every now and then he steals a peek as she sits at a table across the room, conversing with Ingrid and other guests. She’s not facing him, but he has an excellent view of her toned, sexy legs, one crossed over the other. 

The normal traditions are carried out through the reception—the speeches and toasts, the bride and groom’s first dance as husband and wife and the cake cutting, where Anna and Kristoff smash a piece in each other's face. While Killian chuckles along with the audience, he takes a sip of his water, nonchalantly glancing over at Emma once more. He can’t hear her laughing, but he can see her showing off those pearly white teeth, her cheeks swollen as she watches the scene unfold at the three-tiered cake. 

After Emma finishes a slice, she grabs her glass of clear liquid and makes her way through the room, chatting with people he doesn't recognize, and that's when he decides to make his move.

He drains the rest of his water in one gulp before setting down his glass and rising from the empty table. 

David had brought the boys each a slice of cake to keep them occupied while Killian planned his escape. And it worked like a charm. It didn't take long for Liam's hands to get covered in cake and frosting so Mary Margaret took him and his brother to the ladies' room to clean up. David is now off chatting with Anna, Kristoff and Elsa, keeping them distracted while Killian makes his way across the room. He sticks to the fringes of the crowd on the side opposite of the head table, lest someone from the bridal party wave him over, call out for him or approach him. 

Killian hears the tail end of a conversation Emma is having with a couple before she backs away from them. He casually darts into her path as she's turning around and they crash into each other, her drink splashing over the front of her dress.

“Bloody hell, lass, I'm so sorry.” 

She peers down at herself assessing the damage. When she looks up at him, at first she is stunned, as though he'd literally knocked the wind out of her. He’s pretty certain he has the same awestruck expression on his face because she’s even more beautiful up close. Her emerald green eyes sparkle under dark, elongated lashes that are framed by black eyeliner, and her lips are coated with shiny, rose pink lip gloss. And she smells incredible, like floral, citrus and cinnamon; all of his senses are tingling from her scent. 

The only difference between their reactions is she recovers quickly and he can’t quite seem to. 

“You got me all wet,” she mutters, her lovely facial features forming a scowl. 

Killian flashes his flirtiest grin. “If I had a penny for every time a woman has said that to me…”

Just when he thought she couldn't glare at him any harder, she does. She glares at him so hard, he thinks she might burn a hole through his head.

“Here, let me get you another drink,” he says, taking the glass from her hand. When his fingers brush hers, his breath snags in his throat. 

After recovering from that and the way his heart skips a beat, he raises his hand to signal a waitress who gives Emma a napkin and takes the glass away. 

“What were you drinking, love?”

“Ice water, thank God,” she grumbles. “This dress is brand new.”

As she scrubs at the wet spot on her dress, he can’t help but notice the pale tan lines on her skin in the shape of a bikini top. The kind that ties around the back of the neck. And her tan looks too perfect and even to have been caused by the limited angle of the sun. He had envisioned Emma in only a bikini bottom while laying in a tanning bed, but he has to admit, the tan lines look pretty damn good on her. Now he’s wondering what the rest of her looks like.

_Stop thinking of her like that, you wanker!_ he chides himself.

He clears his throat… and his thoughts. “Would you like something else, love?”

When she looks up again, she's still glaring at him. “No, just water. And I’m _not_ your love.”

Killian arches a brow. “There's an open bar and a devilishly handsome gentleman offering to buy you a drink and that's what you choose?”

He's expecting her to laugh or even crack a smile like most women do when he comments on his own looks, but instead, she rolls her eyes. “I'm on call tonight. I don't even have a champagne toast when I'm on call.”

“A tall glass of water on the rocks it is then.” He'd been drinking water too, but for different reasons. 

They walk to the bar together and he orders ice water for her and a rum for himself. As the bartender pours their drinks, Killian turns toward Emma, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. “So you're on call? What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm a doctor,” she answers simply as she crosses her arms and looks away like she's searching for the exit doors.

“Really? What kind of doctor?”

She reverts her gaze to his. “Medical.”

Killian shakes his head and snaps his fingers, disappointment clouding his features. “That's just my rotten luck.”

She arches a brow. “Oh? And why's that?”

“Because I'm as healthy as a horse.”

Killian can actually see the walls erecting around her like a fortress guarding a territory in warfare. He scratches behind his ear, thinking this might be more difficult than he thought. He only met her a couple of minutes ago but he can already tell she's a tough nut to crack. Which is fine. He loves a challenge.

When the bartender slides their drinks toward him, he grabs both glasses and hands Emma her water. 

“Thanks.” She takes the proffered drink with a slight smile and he clinks his glass against hers.

“My pleasure,” he flashes a cheeky grin and imbibes his rum.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” As she brings the glass to her lips to take a sip, she turns and walks away so other guests can get to the bar. 

He pretends not to recognize a brush-off when he receives one; he tries not to let it sting, but it kind of does. He quickly shakes it off and falls into step beside her. “Do you specialize?”

She sighs, most likely realizing she won't be able to get rid of him so easily. “I'm a general surgeon.”

He throws on his most charming smile. “Well, I have to say, I haven’t met a lot of surgeons—like I said, healthy as a horse—but you are the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’m surprised the bride hasn’t kicked you out by now.”

She looks offended. “Kick me out? For what?”

“For being prettier than her.”

Emma’s cheeks turn as red as a tomato. And is that a hint of a smile he can detect? No, it can’t be. “You’re the cockiest, most self-assured man I’ve ever met. And believe me, I’ve met some doozies.” Oh, her smile is authentic all right.

He shrugs in disagreement. “I prefer dashing rapscallion.” He sticks out his hand. “Killian Jones. I’m the maid of honor’s—”

“Brother-in-law. I know.” She stares at his extended hand, leaving it hanging in the air, and he doubts she’ll shake it… until she finally does, clasping it firmly. Her skin is cold from the drink she was gripping tightly with both hands, but her skin is soft and he doesn’t want to let her hand go. But she releases his grip after a few seconds, leaving the ghost of her touch on his palm.

He steps into her space, his eyes scrolling down her body and up again before locking eyes with hers and tilting his head to the side, his voice low and husky as he speaks. “So you know who I am, and here you haven’t even told me your name, love.”

She scowls. “I told you not to call me that.”

“My apologies,” he says sincerely. “What should I call you, then?”

“Emma.” 

His eyes light up with recognition, even though he already knows who she is. She doesn’t know that though. “Emma Swan?”

She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “That’s correct. So, you’ve heard of me, too?”

He nods. “You’re Anna and Elsa’s cousin.”

She lifts her brows, prompting him to expand.

“Your name has come up once or twice in conversation.”

“Really, and what have you heard?”

“Nothing much, only that we’ve almost met about a handful of times.”

Emma nods, biting her bottom lip, which he finds extremely adorable. “It’s one of the downfalls of being a surgeon. My profession makes it hard to have a social life.” 

His eyes light up and a big smile lights up his face, though he doubts not having a social life is something she’s bitter about. There is a reason her cousins have referred to her as distant and aloof more than once. “So you’re saying missing out on the opportunity to meet me is a downfall?”

She shakes her head. “Actually no, I was just being polite. I’m kind of anti-social. But I’m guessing you already knew that.”

He nods, trying to hide the disappointment he feels after her blunt admission. “You’re right, I did. You’re quite perceptive,” he remarks before slugging down the last of his rum.

She shrugs. “I’m a doctor. I have to be able to sense when a patient isn't telling me something I should know before I go cutting them open.” 

He nods in understanding, and they’re both silent as she looks around the room and slowly nurses her drink. After a moment, her eyes return to his, a solemn expression on her face. 

“I’m sorry about your brother by the way. I didn’t know him well but I know he was a good man to Elsa.”

His features cloud with sadness, eyes darkening at the mention of Liam. “Thank you. He was a very good man.”

Emma suddenly narrows her eyes at him. “Aren’t you a detective like him?”

Killian nods and scratches behind his ear. “I was, but not anymore.” He hates lying to her, but he has to. At least for now. “After he died, I moved to Port Lavaca and got a job as a dockhand.”

She lifts a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You went from being a detective to making ten dollars an hour scrubbing fish guts off of boats?”

"It's _twelve_ dollars an hour, and I do more than clean boats," he corrects defensively. 

She scoffs. "Oh sorry, I didn't mean to belittle a job a ten-year-old kid could do."

He frowns. “The pay may not be great but I get to live on the beach and inhale the salty sea air all day. It’s not a bad tradeoff, actually. Besides, if you think about it, cleaning up fish crap is not much different from the crap I cleaned up by working for the SBPD.”

She shrugs, unconvinced. “If you say so.” She takes another sip from her ice water, staring vacantly across the room as the dance floor fills up.

“Would you care to dance?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t dance.”

He nods, accepting another one of her brush-offs as his eyes circle the reception hall in search of his niece. “That’s okay, I’m sure my date will dance with me.”

When she whirls her head around to look at him and cock a brow, he can’t help but notice how much her face clouds with disappointment. “You came here with a date?”  
  


“Is that so hard to believe, love?” He also doesn’t fail to notice she doesn’t correct her pet name this time.

“No, I’m sure there’s some poor woman out there either naive or desperate enough to fall for your charm.”

Killian brings his hand to his chest like he’d just been wounded. “Ouch, that hurts.” He spots his niece dancing with the bride and sets his glass on a vacant table. “I assure you, she is as smart as a whip. In fact, she’s probably smarter than anyone else her age.” He waves at Camila, getting her attention, and she happily rushes to him through the crowd. With a sidelong glance, he witnesses Emma’s eyes following his gaze to see who his date is.

She laughs upon realizing he was referring to Camila. 

And it’s the first time he’s heard her laugh. Even though a crowd-pleasing song is pouring from the speakers, Emma’s laugh is music to his ears. 

“Your niece is your date?”

“Aye.”

“Uncle Killy! Auntie Emma!” Camila chants, rushing over to them. 

He extends his hand to her. “Would you care to dance, little love?”

She grins and nods, slipping her hand in his. He escorts her to the dancefloor, and she steps on each of his feet and takes her uncle’s offered hands as they move to the music.

As he dances with Camila, he does his best to avoid glancing over at Emma—he genuinely wants to spend time with his niece—but every now and then, his eyes make their way across the room.

~*~

Emma returns to the bar for a refill and plops down on a stool with a heavy sigh, her feet killing her from wearing these damn high heels. She really wishes she could drink alcohol right now because then she wouldn’t feel so nervous. She orders another water, and the bartender takes away her empty glass, giving her a fresh one. Her stomach is full of butterflies as she nurses her water and gazes over at Killian on the dance floor with Camila. 

Emma doesn't know much about him, but she has learned a few things. One, his British accent does things to her when he speaks, and two, he’s much more handsome up close. She also knows he’s cocky and kind of obnoxious. Oh, and he’s ridiculously adorable with his five-year-old niece. If this weren’t her cousin's wedding and if she had her own vehicle, she would escape. Because he’s exactly the type of guy she tries to avoid at all costs—good looking and well aware of the effect he has on women. But there's also something very genuine about him. He’s honest and not afraid to say what he thinks. She appreciates that more than she’s afraid to admit.

After they had bumped into each other, she'd been apprehensive to talk to him because she'd seen him sitting with David and she knew through the grapevine he was a detective like Liam. She was afraid he was going to interrogate her about Graham's murder. But her guard lowered when he told her was no longer working for the SBPD and moved to Port Lavaca after his brother died. She knew he was telling the truth because she'd also heard through the grapevine he moved.

She sighs and averts her gaze from the dance floor and the ridiculously handsome man to take a sip of her drink. She thinks about throwing caution to the wind, carpe diem as they say, and going over to dance with him. But the thing is, she doesn't know how to dance.

Before she can ponder the thought any further, she sees out of the corner of her eye a figure claiming the stool next to her. She can feel their stare burning into her skin, and that overwhelming sense of paranoia that’s been eating away at her insides ever since the phone call from Gold takes over and she glances over to see who is sitting next to her. She exhales a deep breath of relief when she recognizes the man she thinks is one of Kristoff’s friends as he looks away from her to order a drink from the bartender. 

Emma rests her elbows on the counter and buries her face in her hands, berating herself for being so paranoid. She keeps expecting Gold to show up at every turn; she keeps expecting to hear his voice on the other end of the line when she answers the phone, regardless of the number on her caller id, or lack thereof. She’s even afraid of being alone in her own freaking house! 

She really needs to get a grip and stop letting that creep get to her, but at the same time she has good reason for being scared. In medical school, she had studied enough required psychology to know Gold is the most dangerous kind of criminal. He believes himself invincible and therefore will dare to do anything.

Emma lifts her head and looks over to catch the man next to her giving her a once over, his lips stretching into a coy grin. “Hi there. You’re Anna's cousin, right?”

Emma has to refrain from rolling her eyes as she steers her gaze away from him. “That’s right,” she mumbles, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

“I’m Hans.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him extending his hand to her. She doesn’t move to shake it though.

“And you are?”

She turns her head, flashing him a fake smile. “Not interested.”

He chuckles as the bartender hands him his drink. “That’s an interesting name, _Not Interested._ You from around here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Hmmm, okay,” he says as he takes a swig of his drink.

At least he knows how to take a hint. She sighs in relief and continues sipping her water in silence.

“Well, _Not Interested,_ I’m from out of town. I’m staying in a hotel room around the corner from here. If you get a little too tipsy from your drink, you’re more than welcome to crash in my room for the night.”

Emma clenches her jaw and is two seconds away from getting up from her seat and either giving him a piece of her mind or throwing her drink in his face. Just as she shifts to rise from her stool, a hand on her back makes her jump out of her skin and when she spins her head around to see whose hand she has to cut off, she loses her train of thought. And her breath.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Killian leans in to kiss her cheek, and her breath catches when she feels those warm, luscious lips on her skin. “I should have known you’d be at the bar,” he chuckles playfully and glances at Hans while his thumb is idly stroking her back. “I can’t take her anywhere.” His spicy cologne hits her senses intensely, crippling her from head to toe when he reaches over her, extending his other hand to the stranger. “Killian Jones, Emma’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day early because it's my day off. I have the next chapter done, and in the meantime, I'll be working on The Princess and Her Sultan for those who have been patiently waiting and because I miss writing for that universe.
> 
> I have to warn you, this chapter is a bit absurd lol but it's fun, I promise. And the end of the chapter will give you a hint for what's to come in the next chapter.

Hans forces a tight smile on his face and hesitantly shakes Killian’s hand, obviously embarrassed he’d invited her to his hotel room. His features contort in pain as if Killian is gripping his hand a little too tightly. 

Killian loosens his grip, apology flickering over his face. “Sorry, mate, sometimes I forget my own strength. I once tapped a bloke in the nose and broke several of his nasal bones.”

Unmistakable fear shows in Hans’ eyes and he quickly rips his hand from Killian’s tight clutch and spins around on his stool, returning to his drink and chugs it down.

Emma is still recovering from the initial shock of Killian coming over to… what, rescue her? Or stake his claim even though she’s not his to claim? She’s not entirely sure, but she plays along, flashing a sarcastic smile. “These heels are killing my feet. I had to sit down.”

Killian moves behind her and places both hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently as he sweetly kisses her temple. Her entire skin warms from his touch. “Well, how about I give you a good foot rub when we get home, hmm?” he murmurs in her ear loud enough for Hans to hear as Killian kneads his fingers into her shoulders.

Emma has to swallow the moan rising in her throat as his decadent, silky voice penetrates her ear and his firm hands give her a momentary dose of heaven. 

_Holy fuck._

He’s not even doing anything to her, and she’s completely turned on. She’s not imagining his hands on her achy feet, giving her a good, thorough rubdown. Certainly not. “Mmmm, that sounds amazing, babe.”

He grins against her earlobe, causing a shiver to skate down her spine. When he removes his hands from her shoulders and extends one to her, she feels the loss of his warmth. “Until then, are your feet rested enough to dance?”

Emma slips her hand in his, interlaces their fingers and stands up, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way.” 

She looks over at Hans to catch his reaction as they walk past him, holding hands. Even from behind, she can tell he’s sulking. 

When she realizes Killian is actually leading her to the dance floor, panic rises in her chest, and she tugs on his hand to stop him. “Wait, are we actually dancing?”

Killian turns his head around to look past her and nods. “Aye, love. Hans still has his eyes on us.” His jaw twitches as he shoots daggers at him. “Or rather, his eyes are still on _you._ So it’s best we keep up the ruse.” He moves again, pulling her through the crowd. 

“But I don’t know how to dance,” she confesses, slightly ashamed. Her cousins took dance classes when they were younger and loved dancing but Emma mostly stuck to her books and simply listened to music rather than danced to it. 

When they reach an appropriate spot on the dance floor, Killian stops and pulls her to him, placing her free hand on his shoulder and his open palm on her back. “There’s only one rule, love.” His eyes lift from their joined hands, and a breath escapes her when his face is only inches away, those baby blues boring into hers. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma’s heart flutters as their bodies are pressed closely together. A hint of a smile curves her lips as she follows his lead, and soon they’re moving with the rhythm of the music like they’re at a fancy royal ball. But somehow she manages to replace her smile with a small scowl. “I didn’t need a dashing rescue, you know. I can take care of myself.” 

He smirks knowingly. “I don’t doubt that, love, but I was saving you from getting scolded by the bride for causing a scene at her wedding.”

Emma wrinkles her brows in confusion. “Causing a scene? What scene?”

“Oh, come on, Emma, you were about two seconds away from giving that bloke a bloody nose.”

“I was not,” she argues defensively.

He lifts both brows. “Oh really? Because it sounded like he was inviting you back to his hotel room. If I were you, I would’ve kicked him in the bollocks.”

“With the way you were staring at him and had that death grip on his hand, I’m surprised you didn’t. Talk about causing a scene,” she scoffs. “By the way, a nose only has two bones, not several.”

“I know that, but judging by the scared shitless look on his face, he either didn’t know or didn't care,” Killian chuckles. 

She tilts her head slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “You weren’t jealous of him, were you?”

He almost laughs. “Jealous of that wanker? In order to be jealous, I’d have to be threatened by him. But he’s not capable of snagging someone of your caliber.”

Emma’s eyes widen in bemusement. “Someone of my caliber? And what caliber might that be?”

“I told you, love, you’re the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever met.” He leans closer to whisper in her ear. “And you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Her face flushes as she cocks a brow. “So you’re saying _you_ are capable?”

Blush paints his cheeks, his lips giving into a smirk. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

She doesn’t comment, and instead just stares into his eyes, which she’s beginning to think is a monumental mistake because she soon gets lost in those forget-me-not blues. Everything else around them disappears as they move across the dance floor, and all she can see is this gorgeous man who seems to be just as intrigued by her as she is by him. “Thank you,” she manages in a breathy whisper, her eyes still locked with his.

His pointy ears actually perk up. “What was that? I don’t believe I heard you right because it sounded like you were actually thanking me instead of yelling at me.”

She laughs. “That's because I _was_. You were right, I was two seconds from either punching Hans in the nose or giving him a swift kick in the balls. So thank you for stepping in... and for saving me from that asshole.”

He chuckles and lifts his hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re very welcome, love.”

The song ends, and the DJ plays something slow, but Emma has to admit she’s not ready to let him go yet. And she can tell he feels the same. It’s written all over his face. Which is confirmed when he releases her hand and wraps both arms around her waist. She curls her hands around the back of his neck and is so close to him, she can feel his heart beating against hers. She has to admit, he is very charming. Any woman would be a fool not to notice. Guilt stabs her when she recalls the mean things she’d said to him earlier, which definitely weren’t true. “I’m sorry for what I said before about a woman having to be either naive or desperate to fall for your charm.”

To that, he pulls back slightly, astounded by her apology. Then his brows furrow. “Did the bartender spike your drink?”

She giggles in his arms. “No, it was just… it was harsh… what I said.”

He smiles warmly. “No need to apologize. I came onto you a little too strongly.”

She scoffs playfully. “A little?”

He blushes, his smile widening. “Okay, a lot too strongly.”

“Not as strongly as Hans,” she points out.

“That’s true. Now there’s a guy you’d have to be either naïve and desperate to date.”

Emma nods in wholehearted agreement. 

Killian breaks their trance to look over her shoulder. He smirks and whispers in her ear. “Don’t look now but we have an audience.”

Emma glances behind her, seeing Anna, Elsa and Ingrid staring at them and smiling, obviously enjoying the show; they might as well be watching a rom-com while munching on popcorn from one of those giant movie theater tubs.

“I told you not to look,” he chuckles. 

She turns her head to face him again and laughs. “I’m glad we could entertain them.” 

“Aye. It’s not even our wedding and yet we seem to be the stars of the show for the moment.” 

She nods and stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out how they hadn’t met before. She’s heard about him, and he used to live in the same town as her, but somehow they had never crossed paths. 

“What, love?” he inquires, noticing her staring at him thoughtfully.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, you’re just… you’re a mystery to me. I can’t figure you out.”

He cocks a brow, intrigued by her statement. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you act all cocky and smug, yet the way you were dancing with Camila was…”

“Was what?” he asks when she doesn’t finish her sentence.

“It was freaking adorable,” she admits with a smile. “You weren’t trying to impress anyone, you were just being you.”

He shrugs. “I’m good with kids. What about you, love?”

“What about me?”

“You seem so confident in your own skin, yet I look into your eyes and see someone who’s emotionally armored. Like you’re trying to protect yourself from something. Perhaps someone?”

“Oh really? You can see that about me?” she asks with an amused grin.

“You’re somewhat of an open book,” he says with a confident smirk.

“Or maybe you’ve just heard my back story.”

He chuckles. “You caught me.” Killian takes her hands and steps back, spinning her around and dipping her. She loses a breath as she looks up into his eyes. “I’ve heard we’re opposites, but we’re actually not so different, you and I.” He brings her back up and draws her into his arms again.

“Oh? And how’s that?”

“I grew up without parents as well.”

Emma’s heart tightens when his eyes darken with sorrow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “But how does that make us similar?”

“Because we both know far too much what it’s like to be alone.” 

She knows he’s not only referring to losing his parents but also his brother. She wants to argue and tell him she’s not alone, but who is she kidding? She lost one of her few friends, and the only guy who’s confessed his affection for her is a psychotic killer. Well, she can’t say he’s the _only_ guy because while Killian hasn’t announced he has a crush on her through an anonymous card, she can see how attracted he is to her. She can see it in his eyes. In fact, she wonders if she laid one on him, would he kiss her back?

Emma’s eyes fall to his lips as she ponders the thought. Her gaze flickers back to his, and she loses a breath when she catches him staring at her lips. She wonders what his mouth tastes like, wonders what it would hurt if she kissed him just once. Her eyes return to his mouth and she leans in, aching to feel those pretty lips pressed against hers.

A drum roll draws their attention to the center of the room, and they separate, looking to see what’s going on. They were so lost in their own little world and forgot they were at a wedding. 

Anna prepares to toss her bouquet to a group of eager bachelorettes who shout and jostle for the best position to catch it. Emma wants no part in the bouquet toss, but Elsa seems to disagree when she grabs Emma’s hand and pulls her toward the group. 

“Come on, Em, you’re single too!” 

When Elsa releases her hand, Emma slinks to the back of the group and can’t wait for this to be over with. She looks over at Killian who’s gazing back at her longingly, and she can’t believe she almost kissed him. Well, she can—he’s fucking gorgeous—but at her cousin’s wedding? In front of all the guests? What was she thinking?

Anna tosses the bouquet behind her, and all the bachelorettes—except for Emma—spring for it. But Anna's throw is much stronger than expected and the bouquet goes far above their heads, aiming directly at Emma, and ends up in her hands after she instinctively catches it.

_Damn it._

Emma holds it up, forcing a smile as the other ladies scream in excitement. She glances at Killian, who is laughing with Kristoff and drinking a glass of what she assumes is rum based on the color and what he'd ordered prior. Her eyes move to Anna who squeezes her into a hug.

Next, a chair is placed in the center of the room and the single men are called to gather around as Anna sits down, grinning from ear to ear. Emma stands off to the side, her eyes dancing between Killian and the newlyweds. Suddenly she’s nervous again, her heart pounding erratically against her breastbone, and she forces herself to look away from him to give her attention to the bride and groom. 

Kristoff gets on all fours and pushes back Anna's skirt, his hand moving up her leg before his head disappears under her dress. Anna is squealing and blushing profusely, the crowd erupting with giggles and chants of encouragement. In a quick motion, Kristoff is out from under her skirts, his teeth pulling the frilly white garter down her leg and over her heel. When he stands up, he slingshots the garter over his shoulder toward the bachelors, and while the men aren’t as enthusiastic as the ladies were, Hans springs for it.

But when he misses it and falls to the floor, the man behind him—who of course happens to be Killian—lifts the garter into the air, grinning like an idiot as everyone cheers. His eyes find Emma’s through the crowd and he tosses her a wink as he twirls the garter belt around his finger. She responds with an eye roll and smiles at him, her cheeks warming with blush. 

The next thing she knows, Emma is being prompted to sit on the chair as she holds onto the bouquet, and Killian still has that stupid grin on his face as he makes his way to her, holding up the garter belt. Emma bites her bottom lip, anticipation coiled in her gut. 

The DJ plays _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ as Killian circles around her like an animal circling its prey, eagerly awaiting its meal. When he’s behind her, he bends over to whisper in her ear. “I have to warn you, love, I’m a biter, too.”

Emma gulps, quite certain she knows his meaning.

Killian appears in front of her, and as he kneels on the floor, she extends her right foot to him, her heart suddenly pounding in her ear. She’s relieved when he uses his hands to pull it over her stiletto, and her skin tingles when she feels his fingertips on her ankle. Then he steals the air from her lungs when he gets on all fours, takes the lace of the garter between his teeth and starts dragging it up her leg with his mouth. Emma’s cheeks are on fire so she briefly buries her face in her hands, laughing in embarrassment as everyone whistles and screams and snaps photos. But the sounds and flashing lights are quickly drowned out because the man who’s moving up her leg with his lips and warm breath brushing her skin demands all of her attention.

_Fuck._

She clenches her thighs together, trying not to envision his face in her lap for other reasons. He gets the garter belt past her knee, but then it gets snagged by her dress. So, with both hands, he pushes up the offending material and moves his face to the side of her outer thigh for a better angle, his hand brushing her other leg as he brings it back to the floor to use only his mouth again. She can’t imagine what this might look like to the guests. Well, she can, and she hopes the young ones aren’t watching. She can’t seem to take her eyes off Killian’s to check though. 

The garter gets caught again, so he lifts her dress once more using his hands. His face inches closer to where she is definitely imagining him to be right now and with one final drag, he gets the garter where he wants it—mid-thigh—and backs away, taking all of his warmth and intoxicating scent with him. All the men are cheering for him, and he grins and blushes, his eyes locked with hers. 

~*~

Killian hadn't meant to take it that far. When he caught the garter belt, he hadn’t planned on using his teeth—he was certainly envisioning it—but he knew it was definitely too much. If he weren’t working on the case and if she weren’t a suspect, and they were just two guests at the wedding, he would still be intrigued by her. He would still be attracted to her. And yes, then he wouldn’t have thought twice about using his teeth. Unfortunately, that isn’t the case. But when she sat in the chair, biting her bottom lip, her eyes glinting with anticipation as she gazed over at him, he almost lost himself and consequently threw all rational thinking out the window. 

When he’d whispered in her ear, he’d seen her flush and heard her gasp. When he’d knelt down in front of her, he’d witnessed those luminous green eyes sparkle, those pupils dilate as she offered her foot to him. He could feel the heat radiating off of her. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist using his mouth to drag that dainty piece of lace up her leg. Every inch of her was so extremely sexy, even her unpainted toenails were sexy and he had to use all his willpower to keep his hands off her. When he accidentally grazed his hand over her leg after he’d pushed the skirt of her dress out of the way, his heart rate sped up. But somehow he’d managed to place the garter belt around her thigh without completely molesting her.

The first part of his plan had been to crack open her shell, make her feel more comfortable with him, and now he’s afraid he’s screwed that up. And David of course was quick to point that out. While Emma was surrounded by her cousins and other females, probably commenting on Killian’s performance, David was pulling him outside and giving him an earful about how he should’ve let someone else catch the garter belt and how he definitely shouldn’t have used his mouth. David was so furious, Killian was sure he would send him back to Port Lavaca, but Killian assured him his behavior wouldn’t affect the second part of his plan. In fact, it would probably make it even more possible. David muttered a “You better hope so,” before storming back inside, pouting.

Killian downs his fourth glass of apple juice as he gazes across the room, his eyes connecting with hers. She blushes and looks away as she’s chatting with Elsa. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about him if the way they keep glancing over his way is any indication. He would definitely put his money on it.

~*~

“Okay, spill it, Emma. And don’t leave anything out,” Anna encourages with a big, toothy grin, her eyes glinting with intrigue.

Emma's eyebrows furrow. “Spill what?” 

“Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looks across the room, and Emma follows her gaze, seeing Killian on the other end of it as he's drinking another glass of rum. 

“You mean, Killian? What about him?”

Anna sighs dramatically and looks like she's about to burst. 

“Is it true, you two are a couple?”

That question was from Elsa, who's just as eager as her sister to expunge the juicy details. Well, maybe not quite as eager, but still very interested.

“No, of course not,” Emma answers, her eyes wide with shock. “We just met.”

Anna’s eyebrows are knitted in confusion. “But my husband said Killian was your boyfriend.” Anna blushes and giggles. “Oh my God, it feels good to finally be able to call him that! My husband, I mean,” she clarifies, as though they didn’t already know who she meant. “But back to Killian, why did Hans yell at my husband for not telling him you were already taken?” 

Emma frowns at the mention of that creep. “Oh that. Killian told him he was my boyfriend because he saw Hans making me uncomfortable. He was trying to save me from punching Hans in the face and ruining your wedding.”

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet,” both cousins gush.

“By the way, who invited Hans?” Emma demands sharply. “He invited me to his hotel room, and before that, I made it very clear I didn't even want to engage in conversation with him.”

Anna’s eyes go wild. “He did what?!” she gasps. “Oh no, that is _not_ okay. I told Kristoff we never should have invited him.” Fueled with anger, she spins around, lifts her skirts from the floor and marches over to Kristoff, who’s chatting with the groomsmen.

“Anna, wait, I don’t want to make a big deal about it,” Emma calls after her, but her auburn-haired cousin ignores her and continues her trek. Emma sighs and turns to look at Elsa who’s always been the calm, rational one of the two sisters. At any rate, she can’t say she’d be sad to see Hans kicked out.

“I’m so sorry about Hans. He’s such a creep,” Elsa comments before sipping her punch.

Emma dismisses Elsa’s words with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. I can handle myself.” 

“I know you can.” A slow smirk pulls at her lips. “So tell me, what exactly is going on with you and Killian? And don’t you dare say 'nothing'. He just used his mouth to get the garter belt on you when he could’ve easily used his hands. And you were…”

“I was what?” Emma asks, trying to contain the smile threatening her lips.

“You were pretty into it,” she teases, swatting Emma's shoulder.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe he's a little cute, but as I said, we just met. I know nothing about him, except that he’s cocky and a compulsive flirt.”

Elsa nods in agreement. “You’re not wrong about that, he can be cocky but in a charming, boyish sort of way. And yes, he can be a bit of a flirt, but he’s mostly bark and no bite.” She laughs at her own remark. “Okay, well as we all saw, he is a little bit of a biter.” 

Emma flushes at the comment and wonders if he’s a biter in the sack because she definitely wouldn’t mind it if he were. Not that she plans on getting him in the sack. Because she definitely doesn't. She snaps her eyes shut briefly, chastising herself for having those thoughts.

“But don’t worry, I won’t badger you about him.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmurs before imbibing her water. She thinks about it for a moment though. Elsa knows Killian pretty well, so this might be an opportunity to find out whether she's wasting her time on him or not. She wants to say she’s not even considering the possibility of dating him, or anyone for that matter, but Elsa can easily squash any or all of Emma’s musings about the man. “So, tell me…” Emma gnaws on her bottom lip, deciding on the right question.

Based on Elsa's knowing smile, she seems to be onto her. “Yes?”

“Is Killian a good guy? I mean honestly? You know I don’t date because I have my trust issues. So am I just wasting my time by lowering my guard around him or-”

“He’s a great guy, Emma. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. I’ve spent some time with him, and we were pretty close before Liam died. He can be a little rough around the edges and hot-headed at times, but he’s honest, has a good heart and can be very sweet. We had a rough patch for a while but now I hope we can be close again. And I know it’s difficult for you to open up, Emma, but you can’t keep people out forever. Besides when is the last time you’ve gone on a date and just had some good old-fashioned fun? You work so damn much, I bet you can’t even remember.”

Guilt rises in Emma’s cheeks, and she nods, considering Elsa’s words. “You’re right. It’s been far too long since I've been with a guy. But he hasn’t even asked me out. How do I know he’s even interested?” She already knows how ridiculous the question sounds when she asks it.

Elsa lifts a brow that says, _really, Emma?_ “With the way he was dancing with you, giving you those doe eyes and the way he put that garter belt on you, do you really need any more proof that he’s completely into you?”

Emma sighs. “But how do I know he doesn't act like that around every woman he meets?” 

“He doesn't, only with women he's interested in. And that's rare for him. He caught the garter at mine and Liam’s wedding, but he didn’t use his teeth, and the bachelorette was much more flirty than he is with you. It was more of an obligation for him then,” Elsa ends the statement with a smirk. “But with you, I could tell—hell everyone in the room could tell he was into you.”

Emma laughs, her cheeks flooding with blush. “Okay, okay, I get your point. So... I should just ask him out then?”

Elsa’s face lights up in excitement. “Yes, you should!”

Emma inhales a deep breath, her heart pounding at the possibility of approaching him. She doesn’t really have a plan yet, but maybe it’s better to just wing it. No, on second thought, she has to have a plan. “Women can ask men out, right?”

“Are you kidding? Yes, they can! Go for it, Em,” she chants encouragingly.

_Okay, here goes nothing_. 

Emma turns around and straightens her shoulders, determined to march over to Killian. Instead, she freezes, her eyes widening in surprise when he’s standing in front of her with a drink in his hand. His hair is carelessly disheveled, his eyes are a dull shade of blue and he’s still wearing his jacket, but his tie is hanging loosely around his neck and his dress shirt is halfway unbuttoned, allowing a patch of dark chest hair to poke out. He's obviously been drinking a little too much. But he still looks delicious.

“Hi there, love,” he greets with a smirk, his words slurred. He stumbles forward and Emma grabs onto him and catches a whiff of him. Okay, he’s been drinking _way too much._

Her eyes sting from the smell of rum as she helps over to the nearest chair. “Easy tiger, I think you’ve had too much to drink.” As she helps him sit in the chair, she glances at Elsa, her cousin’s features donning a mixture of concern and apology.

“He doesn’t normally drink this much.”

Emma looks around, seeing the kids on the other side of the room playing and running around. 

“We should probably get him home. I don’t want Camila or his nephews to see him like this,” Elsa says in a worried tone.

“I’m fine, really.” Killian lazily waves off her words and tries to stand, but almost falls over again before Elsa and Emma catch him. 

“I guess I should take him home. Will you watch Camila while I’m gone?” Elsa asks her.

“Why don’t I just take him?” Emma suggests. “You should stay and spend time with your sister before she goes off on her honeymoon.”

“But you don’t have your car with you,” Elsa points out.

“Did he drive here himself?”

“Yeah, he came in his truck.” 

“Okay, so I can just drive him home in his vehicle and catch an Uber home. Where’s he staying?”

Elsa shakes her head. “I’m not sure. A motel I think.”

Emma kneels in front of him like she’s speaking to a child. “Where are you staying, Killian?” 

“Wherever you want me to stay,” he drawls with a cheeky grin.

Emma rolls her eyes and reaches into the inside of his suit jacket, searching for his wallet.

He smirks. “If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.”

Emma can’t help but blush, his face inches from hers as she grabs his wallet. God, he’s wasted. Rifling through his wallet, she finds a key card from Pinn Road Inn, which is on the other side of town.

She informs Ingrid what’s going on, and after she hugs the newlyweds and wishes them a fantastic honeymoon, she and Elsa help Killian to his truck and buckle him up in the passenger seat. Elsa apologizes profusely as though she’s responsible for her brother-in-law, but Emma waves off her words and hugs her goodbye. She promises to have lunch with her and Anna after the honeymoon and climbs into the truck.

The drive to the motel is mostly silent until Killian suddenly starts cursing like a sailor. She looks over to see him pulling at a thread that's hanging from the cuff of his jacket.

“Don’t pull at it, you’ll ruin the jacket,” Emma warns, returning her eyes to the road. “Just take it back to the haberdashery you got it from.”

“Royal tuxedos, my arse. More like royal crap,” he bleats, reclining in his seat to reach into his pants pocket. 

Glancing over at him, she sees him using a Stanely knife to cut off the string. Her eyes widen in horror. “Don't do that, you'll—” 

_Too late._

Killian’s groaning in pain, his left hand is covered in blood and the blood is dripping all over his suit.

“...cut yourself,” she finishes with a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you probably have a lot of questions about what exactly is up Killian's sleeve, but I promise that will be covered in the next chapter. And yes, I couldn't make either Emma or Killian a doctor without injuring the other one at least once and having some doctor/patient scenes. I promise Killian will be in good hands though :-)


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you might not like Killian by the end of this chapter, and as you've already probably guessed, there's gonna be some angst later on, but it's all part of the grand plan for the story. Regardless, hope you enjoy the chapter!

“I hope that isn’t a rental,” she grumbles under her breath as she calmly and safely pulls off to the side of the road. She’s calm because she’s accustomed to blood, but she’s angry because now she has to clean up his mess. She’s also accustomed to dealing with drunken idiots who are brought in to the ER with self-inflicted injuries. “Here, give me your hand.”

His features are contorted in pain as he clutches onto the wrist of his injured hand, holding it to his chest, and yet still manages a small smirk. “Though I’m flattered, do you really think this is the best time for hand-holding?”

Emma rolls her eyes and unbuckles her seatbelt, pulling out a few supplies from her clutch purse to clean and inspect the damage. He hisses in pain and tries to pull his hand away, but she grips his wrist firmly. “Stay still.” When she's done cleaning the wound, it’s still bleeding so she scans the backseat of his truck. “I’m assuming you don’t have a first aid kit?” Her clutch purse is too small to carry any emergency items other than some baby wipes, a mini squeeze bottle with water, nasal spray for nosebleeds, bacitracin ointment and bandages she brought just in case one of the kids fell and scraped their knee, but the big gash across his palm is too deep to just throw on a bandaid and call it a day. In fact, he'll need stitches. But first, she has to stop the bleeding. 

He shakes his head. “Sorry, love.”

Returning her attention to him, she spots the sliver of what appears to be a handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his tux jacket. She pulls it out, unfolds it and wraps the handkerchief around his hand quickly and efficiently. She leans over him and takes his other hand, holding it gently to the covered wound to keep pressure there. “You need stitches.”

His intense blue eyes widen. “You sure?”

Emma rolls her eyes again. “I’m a doctor, of course I’m sure. The wound needs to be closed up to reduce the chance of infection and so it can start healing properly. I’ll drive you to the ER.”

As she buckles her seatbelt, Killian places his good hand on her arm to stop her. 

“Wait, why do I have to go to the ER if I have a doctor right here?”

Her breath hitches and she removes his hand, returning it to his covered wound. Yes, she removes his hand from her skin to apply pressure on the injury. That's all. Not because his touch scorches her skin or because she can't think straight when he's touching her. “Because I don’t have the proper supplies with me. I need sutures and a sterilized needle.”

He pouts. “But I don’t want to spend the rest of the evening in the emergency room just for a cut.” He rifles through her purse, pulling out some bandaids. “I’ll be fine, I’ll just use some bandaids to keep the cut closed.”

She shrugs defeatedly. “Okay, I'll just take you to your motel then.” She finishes buckling up and shifts gears, trailing away from the curb.

“Thank you, love,” he says appreciatively.

“No problem. Just don’t blame me when you have to get fitted for a prosthetic hand.” 

Killian jerks his head so quickly, she's surprised he's not dizzy. However, his face is very pale as his eyes widen in horror. “Prosthetic hand?” 

Emma glances at him and says very casually, “Well, yeah. When your injury leads to sepsis because you decided to slap some bandaids on it instead of going to the ER, a surgeon will have to amputate your hand.” She reassuringly places her hand on his arm, which is now very tense. “But don't worry, I'm sure the doctors in Port Lavaca are very good and your amputation won't also lead to an infection or death.” She removes her hand and waves it dismissively. “I'm sure you'll be fine.”

He sighs dramatically and sits back in his seat, still holding his wounded hand. “Fine, I'll go to the ER.”

Emma smirks as she keeps her eyes on the road. Pointing out to someone that refusing to go to the hospital for something as minor as a cut may lead to amputation or death usually does the trick. But as Emma heads toward the hospital, she purses her lips pensively. She has the supplies she needs at home and can easily fix up his injury herself. And since there's a chance Gold will be lurking around in the darkness when she's at home tonight, and peeping through her windows, having someone in the house with her sounds much more appealing than being alone. So instead of taking him to the motel afterward, Killian can just sleep on her couch and drive himself home in the morning—i _f_ he plans on leaving for Port Lavaca tomorrow. Emma kind of hates the thought of him leaving the next day, but she can't think about that right now.

Settling on a decision, she makes sure the road is clear before making a U-turn.

Killian furrows his brows. “Where are we going? The hospital is the other way. And I prefer to keep my hand intact.” 

“You will, trust me. We’re going to my house. I have a suturing kit there.”

~*~

After discarding the blood-soaked handkerchief, she prepares Killian's wound for suturing by cleaning out any remaining blood. Then she has him sit on a stool with his hand resting on the island countertop where the sterilized supplies she’ll need are laid out on a paper towel. As she stands directly in front of him, she tries not to think about how close he is to her, but whenever she looks at him, those devastatingly blue eyes make her tremble slightly. She takes a few deep breaths to steady herself so she can begin stitching up his hand.

“When I stick you with my needle you'll feel it,” she warns, but he doesn’t say a word. Not even an inappropriate innuendo, which shocks her. She looks at him to make sure he’s okay, but that turns out to be an enormous mistake because she loses her breath again when she catches him just staring at her with those vivid blue eyes. She looks away and pierces the needle through his skin. 

He doesn’t flinch, only watches her quietly as she works. She tries to focus on closing his wound, but she can feel his warm, ragged breath on her cheek, and even though he smells like Captain Morgan, she detects that intoxicating cologne. Emma’s a damn professional, so this basic procedure shouldn’t affect her like this; but she'd nearly kissed him, then was stupid enough to almost ask him out. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He shrugs with his other shoulder. “So I’ve been told once or twice.”

She can detect the humor in his voice, but also the pain. Maybe because he’s done something like this before? Or maybe because she’s hurting him? She wants to believe everything Elsa told her—that he’s a great guy and that he doesn’t normally drink himself into a stupor—but she keeps thinking about what he’d said earlier about his bad luck and how he was as healthy as a horse. Then he cut his hand and refused to go to the emergency room. It was almost like he… no, she immediately tries to squash the thoughts, but she can feel the intensity of his hungry gaze and wonders if the alcohol in his system is the only thing causing his fingers to graze her leg as his good hand rests on his knee. 

It’s almost like he purposely cut his hand. It’s almost like he purposely got drunk to the point where he needed a ride home like the proceeding events were all part of some carefully crafted plan to get her to take him home with her. But if he had ill intentions, then why would he go through all that trouble? She was already taking him back to his motel room where he could’ve easily made a move on her. So why would he hurt himself so she would bring him home? To find out where she lived so he could leave her roses and creepy love letters?

_I need to stop._

Emma berates herself for being paranoid. Killian is not like Gold. He’s a good guy. He used to put scum like Gold in jail. She wonders what would happen if she told Killian what was going on with that stalker, but he'd probably be obligated to go to the police. And his friend is a detective. The same detective who is targeting her as an accomplice to murder. No, she definitely can’t tell Killian.

Emma finishes up the last stitch, knots the thread and cuts off the excess. Then she wraps his hand up in a bandage. “All finished,” she says, removing her gloves and discarding them in the trash can. She gives him instructions on how to care for the stitches and jots them on a notepad because come tomorrow, she doubts he'll remember what she told him. “You’ll have a scar, but as long as you take care of the stitches, your cut should heal nicely.”

“Thank you, Dr. Swan,” he says with a small smile as he tries to stand from the stool. 

He still looks a little woozy from the alcohol, so she tells him to stay seated while she goes to the cupboard, fetches a cup and fills it with water. “Drink this,” she orders, handing him the cool glass. 

Using his good hand, he accepts the water, guzzling it quickly. But with how much alcohol she'd seen him consume, she's not surprised. 

“You should get some rest. You'll need a good night’s sleep to give your liver time to metabolize the alcohol in your system.” 

He hands her the empty glass, donning a smirk. “Care to join me, love?”

Ah, there's the inappropriate behavior she was expecting earlier.

“You’re sleeping on the couch, buddy. But first we need to get you out of those clothes.” 

His response of course is another smirk, another cheesy innuendo, and the way he wags his eyebrows is positively obscene. “It's about bloody time,” he drawls, and even the slur pulling his words together does nothing to take away the effect his usually impeccable elocution has on her.

Emma rolls her eyes, trying to ignore the spike of her heartbeat at the thought of undressing him.

She helps him to the bathroom, closes the toilet seat lid and has him sit while she goes to the bedroom, trying to find something that would fit him. She's never had a man stay the night since she bought this house five years ago, so she has no male clothes in her home.

After searching her dresser drawers, she comes up with a pair of old, baggy sweatpants that stretch at the waistband, and an oversized, burnt orange Texas Longhorn jersey she uses as a nightgown. She brings the items to the bathroom where she pulls off his blood-stained clothes, leaving him in only his boxers. She empties all his pockets, setting the items on the counter before putting his suit in a garment bag, hoping the professional cleaners can get the bloodstains out of his clothes. 

The bright red fluid has soaked through his dress shirt, so she grabs a disposable towel to clean him up with soap and water. When she kneels in front him, parting his knees so she can reach him, she loses a breath as he stares at her with those expressive blue eyes. She tries not to bite her bottom lip when she cleans dried blood off his chest, which is sprinkled with just the right amount of exquisitely soft hair she's itching to run her fingers through—or at least when she's not cleaning blood off him. She tries not to notice how fast his heart is beating when she scrubs the towel over his chest, or how shallow his breathing is or that his stare is burning her skin. 

Her eyes are trained on the task at hand as she rinses off the soap with a damp cloth. Then she dries him off with a fresh towel, trying not to notice how naked or muscular or bronzed he is or how his abs ripple when he lifts his arms to allow her to pull down the jersey over his head. While he probably wouldn't mind her taking advantage of him in his drunken state, she would never do that. Right now he’s her patient, and she treats him as such. 

After he is clean and clothed, she helps him to the couch and retrieves a pillow, blanket and a puke bucket. She also refills the glass and leaves it on the coffee table, next to his wallet, keys and her doctor's note which she slides in between the flaps of his wallet, so he'll see it when he wakes up.

“Comfortable?” she asks, once he's laying down on his side so he doesn't choke on his own vomit if he pukes. 

“Aye, love.” There’s that charming smirk again. Emma rolls her eyes, knowing there’s another innuendo coming. “You know what would make me even more comfortable?”

“No, but if you tell me, I’ll kick you off the couch and make you sleep on the floor.” She kneels down on the rug and brings the blanket over his arms. 

He sticks out his lip in a pout as he snuggles his head against the pillow. "I have to say, your stitching technique is perfect but your bedside manners leave something to be desired. Are you this mean to all your patients?"

She tilts her head and gives him a taunting smirk. “Are you this flirty with every woman you meet or is there like a switch you can turn on and off?” 

Killian chuckles like she’s seen nothing yet. But if that was not him being flirty, then she'd hate to see what he would do or say if he actually _were_ flirting. 

Emma gulps at the thought.

“You call this flirting?” 

Emma shrugs. “I mean we’ve only just met, and you’re already in my pants.”

“Touche, love.” Amusement dances in his eyes as he crooks his finger, urging her closer. She leans in until he's so close she can feel his breath on her ear as he murmurs in a low, husky voice. “But if I were flirting, you’d know by now that I think your eyes are mesmerizing and that after watching you lick the cake frosting off your fingers at the reception, I’ll probably have a very dirty dream about your mouth.”

Emma's breath catches in her throat as she snaps her eyes to his, and she knows she should smack him for that remark, but he's already been through enough torture for one night. And she's definitely not wondering what exactly she'd be doing to him with her mouth in said dream. 

_Damn bastard._

Her phone rings from the kitchen, pulling Emma from her thoughts and from his hypnotic gaze. She rises from the floor and hurries to retrieve her phone from her clutch purse. Recognizing the number, she answers it.

“Good evening, Dr. Swan, this is Dr. Whale in Emergency. We’ve got a motorcycle-wreck casualty. Male. Mid-thirties. He's in pretty bad shape. We did a CT scan to check the extent of his injuries and there’s a lake of blood in his abdomen.” 

“I’ll be right there.” Just before hanging up, she asks him for her code number. “My code number, please?” 

“Seventeen.” 

“Thanks. Be there in ten minutes.” She hangs up and rushes to the living room to inform Killian she has to leave. “I have to go into work. There's been a motorcycle accident—” Emma's words hang in the air when she finds Killian asleep on her couch with his mouth slightly open. She tiptoes to the couch, pulling the blanket up to his chin. 

She wants to be mad at him for that inappropriate remark and because he was watching her from across the room before they even met, but as she gazes down at him, he reminds her of a sleeping baby, so sweet and peaceful and too damn adorable. She grabs her purse and before she leaves, she makes sure the flash on her phone is off before she snaps a photo of him. Elsa already knows she's attracted to Killian, but she doesn't take it for her or Anna. She takes it for herself. 

~*~

Once he hears a car pull out of the driveway, Killian removes the blanket with a smirk playing along his lips. He could hear the faint click of her phone and knew she was snapping a photo of him. He knew she was going to send it to Anna and Elsa if she hadn't already. The thought makes him giddy.

He has to wipe the smirk off his face, though, and get to work. He doesn’t know how long she’ll be gone. He stands from the couch and adjusts his pants, or rather Emma's pants, which are squeezing his manhood. They're stretchy, so they fit him well enough, but they certainly weren't made for men. He's not complaining though; her clothes smell so sweet and floral like Emma and he absolutely loves her scent. He wonders how good she would look in this jersey–much better than he does, he imagines.

Clearing his thoughts, he begins in the kitchen where she’d left a box of latex gloves on the counter. He pulls a pair over his hands, being careful of the bandage on his left one, before rummaging through drawers, cabinets and her pantry. After Killian explained his harebrained scheme that would probably never work, David was completely against it; he’d wanted Killian to get her to open up to him so he could sponge information from her, but that would've taken too long and would’ve been too obvious. 

As Killian absentmindedly uses his injured hand to open a drawer—since he’s left-handed—and winces in pain, David’s plan doesn’t sound so bad now. Especially since Killian feels like a complete arse. Emma stitched up a cut he had purposely inflicted on himself, she took care of him and how does he repay her? By snooping around in her house? But after meeting her, he’s more certain than ever she had nothing to do with Graham’s murder, so he’s searching her house to prove that. Once he comes up empty-handed, then maybe David will shift the investigation in a different direction.

After finding nothing in the kitchen, he moves to the other rooms of the house. He’s amazed she didn’t kick him out after the remark he made about her mouth. But now it will give him an excuse to see her again. He’ll apologize and blame it on the rum, even though he wasn’t actually that drunk. He’d ordered an actual rum and slathered the amber liquid over his stubble before gulping it down right before he stumbled over to her acting like a drunk. He knew he had to be impressively convincing though to fool a doctor like Emma. 

Once he searches the bathroom, where he had to force himself not to picture her naked in the shower, he enters a small room he assumes she uses as a study, and finds a stack of opened mail on the desk. He’s lucky she got called into work because otherwise, he would’ve had to wait until she took a shower which he’s sure she would’ve done after cleaning up the blood off him. But her absence gives him more time to do a thorough search. He shuffles through the contents on her desk before searching her drawers, where he finds an expandable folder filled with receipts. But as expected, there are no paid invoices for a contract killer. 

He goes to her bedroom and tries not to think about it too much; he can’t help but glance at the bed she sleeps in every night, finding it neatly made. Her entire house is spotlessly clean and as sterile as an operating room. He wonders how a woman with a busy schedule like Emma’s finds time to clean. 

He pulls open her dresser drawers, rifling through her panties and bras. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to find in here, maybe photos, keepsakes, letters or anything that would connect her to Cassidy, or any other human being for that matter. The only photo he’s seen so far is the one on the desk in her study of her and Ingrid. Emma was much younger in the picture, maybe a teenager or young adult. The only thing Killian determines by scouring her panty drawer is that she wears dainty little thongs, maybe because anything else would leave panty lines when she wears her scrubs, dresses or slacks. He’s not sure, but he also notices a few regular knickers she probably wears during her time of the month. 

Killian closes the drawer and searches the other dresser drawers before moving to her nightstand. So far, he is happy he has nothing on Emma and can’t wait to tell David how wrong he is. Killian smiles when he picks up a framed photo from her nightstand, one with her, Elsa and Anna. He’d actually seen this one before. They were all very young at the time; it was taken not long after Ingrid took in the cousins to raise them on her own. As he sets down the frame, he wonders why Emma doesn’t have any recent photos. Maybe because she’s not as close to her cousins as she used to be? 

He shakes away the thoughts and continues his search. He looks under her bed, finding not even a stray sock, and lifts up her pillows, which definitely smell like her. And while he’s tempted to bring one to his nose and get a good whiff of her scent, he restrains himself. He’s only here to investigate, not to smell her things like some creepy perv, though after going through her panty drawer, he kind of feels like one. 

In her closet, he finds empty shoe boxes, lots of faded blue jeans and a few pairs of western boots. He remembers Anna telling him her cousin owns a ranch next to Kristoff’s and they take care of her horses while she’s gone. So the riding clothes he finds are not surprising to him. And just as he suspected, based on the clothes he’s wearing of hers–there are no men’s clothing in her closet. In fact, he found absolutely no sign a man has ever stayed over at her house. There are no bottles of cologne in her bathroom cabinets. No male razors, no shampoos or deodorants marketed for men, no birth control pills, no condoms. Only one toothbrush. This relieved him in more ways than one. Probably more than it should've.

Next, he searches through the drawer of her nightstand and finds the obituary page which includes a photo of Graham Humbert next to his bio. He picks it up and finds the wedding invitation for Anna and Kristoff’s wedding underneath. He also finds one for Elsa and Liam’s wedding which makes him smile. Emma has obviously kept these items for sentimental reasons, even though she couldn’t attend Elsa and Liam’s wedding. Emma obviously feels bad about that, and he wonders if he could help her become close with her cousins again. He wonders if this investigation won’t end up being a complete waste of time after all. Killian lowers the items in his hand to replace them in the drawer when he spots a card that was hiding underneath the invitations. 

It reads, _I’ve got a crush on you._

Arching a brow in curiosity, he picks it up and turns it over, but it’s unsigned and unaddressed. Did her ex give it to her back when they were dating? But the card is too crisp and white to be old. Maybe it’s from a secret admirer? Or maybe Emma typed it herself and intended to give it to someone? Jealousy stabs at his gut, even though he has no right to be jealous. Yet the note doesn’t seem like Emma’s style. 

Maybe it was from Graham? Maybe he had slipped the note to her before they had parted the night he died. Maybe that had made her feel uncomfortable, so she contacted Cassidy and hired him to murder Graham?

No, he can’t think like that. Emma’s not capable of murder. Besides, if she were, she would’ve had _Killian_ murdered. Because he'd definitely laid on the charm and made her feel uncomfortable. But she’d also warmed up to him.

Killian replaces the card in the drawer and sets the other items on top just as he had found them. He shuts the drawer and moves to the window, peeling back the curtain. From here, he can see the road in front of her home, and the stakeout house where Scarlet can most likely see him from his vantage point. Not only did they have cops watching Cassidy’s penthouse in unmarked cars, but they’re also monitoring Emma’s street to watch for that bastard in case he pays her a visit. 

He exhales a deep breath and still can’t help but wonder who that card came from. An old lover? A recent lover? 

Then he remembers what David had told him. Cassidy kept making eyes at her in the courtroom. Killian's face drains of blood at the possibility that the card could be from Cassidy. And if she didn't return his feelings for her, she would’ve torn up the card and threw it away. 

Right?

But she didn’t. She stored it in her nightstand drawer with her other keepsakes.

Which means...

He closes the curtain and steps away. 

_No, no, no._ Emma wouldn’t fall for the creep; there’s no bloody way! 

Killian wants to kick himself for even considering the thought. The thought of the bastard–the same bastard who slaughtered Killian’s brother, not to mention many other innocent people–putting his hands on Emma. The thought of Emma even allowing that snake to touch her makes Killian sick to his stomach. But it would make sense in a rather unsettling, twisted way. If Cassidy ever came here to Emma’s home, he wouldn’t leave anything behind. Hell, he’d probably sheath his tiny dick with an extra condom every single time and then discard them elsewhere so no one could ever find a connection between him and Emma.

The sound of a vehicle driving down the road grabs Killian’s attention. Thinking it might be Emma returning from the hospital, he peers through the slit of the curtains. And while the car slows down when it reaches her house, the person he can see through the windshield is not Emma. 

The hairs on the back of his neck bristle, and he clenches his jaw. He’d recognize that ugly face anywhere.

_It’s Cassidy._

Killian balls his good hand into a fist as the bastard studies her house when he drives by. But why? Is he trying to see if she’s home? Or did she send Cassidy to her house to kill the arsehole who wouldn't stop hitting on her at her cousin's wedding?

He steps back and gulps.

_Holy fuck._

_What if David was right?_


End file.
